The Secret Changes within Bella Swan
by SwedenSara
Summary: Bella, who has been married to Edward for a few years, finds herself being someone she doesn't want to be. She wants this to change and takes a journey whithin herself to find the girl she used to be and the love she used to feel for Edward.
1. Prologue

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just borrowed the names. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without written authorization. ©2010 SwedenSara. All rights reserved worldwide.**

**Thank you LouderThanSirens and JillM12, my betas on this chapter! JillM12: thanks for the encouragement. Without you it would suck even more... Thanks to hunterhunting for helping me find Project Team Beta and to chrometurtle for offering to look at my story.**

* * *

**The Secret Changes Within Bella Swan - Prologue**

I don't know when it happened. I only know that at some point, somewhere along the line, things had changed.

I used to look at him thinking he was the most beautiful man alive. I used to not be able to keep my hands off him. I used to love him. Suddenly I didn't think he was the most beautiful man alive anymore. These days I preferred not to touch him. When did I begin to look at him so differently?

I remember the party where we met. Everybody stood up and introduced themselves by name and relationship status, because those were the two most important things to know. His name was Edward Cullen, and he had a girlfriend. "Sort of," he said. That made me wonder: _what does "sort of" mean?_ He was kind of dorky, cute and shy; the kind of guy that accidentally tipped his chair over when he stood up, and then got embarrassed by it. He wore a suit and a shirt, the only one not wearing jeans and a tee. It was a bit weird, and I liked it. His brown tousled hair had red streaks in it, I could tell in the lights by the bar. His eyes were green like spring leaves, but I didn't notice until the Caps game when we started to throw bottle tops at each other.

I was a regular at the bar, being one of the students working there for no money, besides a few beer bongs that were usually spent the next week. We were the part of the student union who wanted to give other students a place to go for a beer after classes and exams. Everybody knew us; everybody wanted to be our friend. He later said it was the beer caps game that made him really notice me. He dismissed me until then, not because he wasn't interested, but because he didn't think he had a chance. I had my boys there: some of them just friends being friendly, some of them friends with benefits ready to follow me if I needed company. He felt inferior and discouraged from approaching me, always seeing me talking to or hugging someone else.

It was so easy to get him wrapped up in me. I'm not sure why I chose him, maybe it was the chair thing or maybe I just felt he would be an easy target. Maybe I wanted to figure that "sort of girlfriend" thing out. Mostly I just wanted to feel the high you get from turning somebody on. I used my most manipulative ways, being playful and smiling and throwing beer caps at him. When I leaned forward tugging my tank top down, urging him to throw the next cap in my cleavage, I knew I had him. I saw it in his eyes. I raised an eyebrow as I tucked the cap down in my bra, and he swallowed loudly when I leaned over and whispered, "I think I need to keep this". _I was such a whore._

He followed me like a puppy, and the reaction I got from him kissing in the hallway behind the bar made me feel like the queen of the world. He was putty in my hands and my self confidence went sky high. He walked me to the cab, and when he wanted to follow me home I laughed and said I wasn't the kind of girl who went home with a guy the first night. Yeah right. I told him he was allowed to call me when he no longer had "sort of" a girlfriend. He didn't seem like the kind of guy who left his girlfriend just because some random slut stuck her tongue down his throat. I guess I didn't think he'd call at all.

But he did.


	2. Bottle tops and sunny smiles

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just borrowed the names. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without written authorization. ©2010 SwedenSara. All rights reserved worldwide.**

**Thank you LouderThanSirens and JillM12, my betas on this chapter! ****You are the queens of commas.**

* * *

_**Bottle tops and sunny smiles**_

**x.x.x**

EPOV

When we arrived at the party I heard a girl laughing. It wasn't girly, giggly laughter, it was hearty and genuine, but somehow muffled. I turned around, curious to see the girl, and I caught a glimpse of her thrown over some guys shoulder while he ran to the dance floor. She was shaking with laughter as he put her down, trying to catch her breath. She slapped him on his behind and then started pulling tables and chairs out on the floor; this was obviously where the dinner would be held. It made sense because the bar was so small they'd never fit the tables in there. She worked fast and efficiently, bringing plates, cutlery and glasses to the tables on the dance floor. I could tell she had done this many times and that she wasn't afraid of hard work. Her friends dragged their feet behind, seemingly avoiding the task. She probably noticed, but she didn't say anything.

I took my coat off and went to the bar. It was crowded; the air was humid and hot. I saw the girl in the corner of my eye. She seemed to know everybody in there; she waved to the girls, but hugged the guys. She always smiled, but she had different smiles for different people; some of the girls got a polite smile, and some got a happy, but slightly cautious one. I didn't think they noticed, all wrapped up in their own business as girls tend to be. The guys on the other hand, they got genuine smiles. Some of them were smiles that hinted a connection other than a friendly one, which hinted at a deeper connection. It was a knowing smile. Some guys got smiles that were appreciative, while some got smiles that were apologetic. Those guys always had a hint of sadness on their faces. I realized they were the ones she had turned down on some point.

The doors swung open and two guys entered. One of them scanned the bar while taking his jacket off and his mouth turned into a smile when he saw her. He quickly hid behind his friend, waiting for her to turn her back to them. Then he snuck up behind her and lightly grazed the back of her neck with his fingers. She froze, closed her eyes and then shivered slightly before she turned around. The smile on her face was astonishing. She had a specific smile just for this guy, and it was the smile of the sun. They hugged and whispered quiet words to each other while her face went through emotions; happy, sad, delighted, longing and sad again. She nodded at something he said, he seemed to encourage her as he held her face in his hands, looking into her eyes. A wordless conversation took place before they suddenly went in different directions. I could tell they were special to each other. It annoyed me. I wanted that smile.

I realized as I watched her that she would never be interested in a guy like me. I had no chance. So I shook my head to get rid of the memory of her smile, and bought a beer. The dinner was about to begin, and everybody sat down at the U-shaped table she'd arranged earlier. I lost sight of her. Everybody was supposed to introduce themselves, and I made an awkward appearance, tripping my chair and mumbling like a total idiot. My ears went hot and red, and I felt her eyes on me, but I refused to look at her. The guy who got the smile of the sun sat next to her, his name was Jake and he said he was "single, looking for a good time." I snorted quietly. I tried not to listen as she introduced herself as "Bella Swan, not currently dating." I failed miserably: my still red hot ears were clinging to her every word. _At least they aren't dating_, I thought.

As the night went by, I could see her interacting with a lot of young men in there. Some of them looked at her as if she was a trophy, prey, or just a pair of boobs. It was appalling and I was happy to see she seemed to turn all of them down. I noticed she used some of her guy friends as a shield, or escape. Whenever some douche bag got too intense, or didn't back off when she told him to, one of her friends joined her, slipping his arm around her waist in a possessive way until the douche disappeared. Then she would smile at her friend and kiss him gently on the cheek before moving on. I was relieved to see she had people looking out for her, but it still made me feel strange watching them with their arms around her. I shouldn't care, I didn't know her. But I wanted to. And I wanted that smile; the smile of the sun.

Later in the evening we sat down for a game of caps. It was new to me, but I had a good aim and learned fast. She sat in the circle next to me. Sometimes our eyes met and she smiled at me. It was a curious smile, like there was something she wanted to know. I smiled back at her, shaking my head at myself for even trying to get her attention. I tried to focus on the game, aiming at the glass of beer across the floor. Just when I was about to throw, I got hit in the head with a bottle top, and of course I missed it. My eyes darted around the room, trying to find out who was responsible for making me lose that shot. I glanced at her, wondering if she saw the whole thing. I felt embarrassed. When I saw her suppressed smile I realized it was her. She was the one who threw it. _Did she want me to notice her?_ She lifted her eyes to mine and I smiled crookedly before I threw it back at her. I hit her on the forehead and she burst out laughing before she threw it back at me. As I was considering my next move, she tugged her tank top slightly down and leaned forward. I saw the curves of her breasts and a hint of black lace. My mind went blank. She smiled at me with a raised eyebrow, and I knew that she was challenging me. I looked in her eyes while tossing the bottle top in her cleavage. She told me she'd keep it. When she grabbed my now loosened tie and dragged me to the bar, I could do nothing but follow. I didn't leave her side that night. When she pushed me against the wall and kissed me, slowly licking my lower lip, I felt like I had died and gone to heaven. There was nothing I wouldn't do for Bella Swan. She was everything.

That night I decided to put an end to my "almost relationship". It wasn't even about love. Me and Tanya had known each other since we were kids, and started dating when we were fifteen because it felt like the natural way to go. We moved in together a few years later. She was my first, and I was hers. When she decided she wanted a life on her own and moved out, our friends and families were more shocked than I was; I knew it was coming. We were apart for several months, barely speaking. Not that we were fighting, but it just didn't feel necessary. When the summer came we were going sailing with our friends. That trip had been planned for over a year, and since we didn't want to make things awkward for the rest of our friends we decided to get back together temporarily. We still liked each other and it seemed like the easiest way to get rid of the worries our friends had about the whole thing. Then we kind of forgot to say the words to end it, but that was about to change. Bella told me I could call her once I sorted that Tanya-situation out and I fully intended to do that. Maybe I could get that sunny smile, after all.

I accompanied her as she left to get a cab. I didn't want her to walk around all alone, it was late and the town was full of drunken assholes. I wanted to make sure she got home in one piece, and I asked if I could follow her home. She laughed, saying she wasn't that kind of girl. I didn't understand what she meant at first, but as she climbed in the cab I realized she thought I wanted to sleep with her. I frowned at the thought. I would never dream of asking a girl I just met such a thing. All I wanted was for her to be safe.

**x.x.x**

BPOV

I got in the cab, slightly smiling at the expression on his face when I said he couldn't follow me home. He told me the "sort of" girlfriend story earlier that evening, before I was kissing him in the hallway. That relationship was just for show, it meant nothing and they just hadn't gotten around putting an end to it. But still, I turned him down because of it. My smile turned into a frown when I realized how out of character I'd behaved. I never used to care about girlfriends, especially not the "sort of" ones, I took the boys home anyway. _Why did it matter to me now? What made him different? Or rather: what was it about him that made me act differently than I used to?_ I didn't get it.

I sighed and leaned back feeling the slight spin of alcohol in my head. I enjoyed it since I knew it would make me sleep tonight. I knew I had to talk to Jake about this guy. He was the one who knew how fucked up I was, and he never made me feel less about it because he was fucked up even more than I. With him, I allowed myself to express what I felt sometimes, but never wanted to acknowledge with my mind. And when I needed to suppress those thoughts he was the one giving me the pep talk, saying I was the best ever and that I shouldn't let other people hold me down. Jake was the one who told me I was worthy of love. He gave me what I needed at the time, whether it was sex, someone to dry my tears or just someone to hug me at night. When I had to take my cat to the vet to put him down, Jake was the one who followed me there and then stayed with me until the crying stopped. To everyone else Jake was just the Casanova, doing a new girl every weekend; to me he was the one I could always count on, and I knew he cared. He had a part of my heart, but I knew I had none of his because he didn't give any of it away.

But this Edward guy, there was something about him. He didn't regard me the same way I did. He made me feel different, like I was actually worth something. I wasn't used to it and I didn't understand it, but I wanted to do things right for once. I would not sleep with Edward. Not yet. I didn't think he'd call, anyway.

I wished he would, though.


	3. Dinners and Divorces

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just borrowed the names. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without written authorization. ©2010 SwedenSara. All rights reserved worldwide.**

**Thank you Sweetishbubble, Whitlocked and JillM12, my betas on this chapter!**

* * *

**_Dinners and Divorces_**

Yes, Edward did call. He sorted the Tanya situation out and left a message on my cell phone, which I listened to with a big goofy grin on my face. My dad, Charlie, was sitting right beside me in the car; he was driving us over to his place for dinner. I told him about this guy I met, not forgetting the part about him supporting the same football team as my dad. Charlie smiled and shook his head, and I knew he was happy that I seemed to be moving on, forgetting about the last jerk I dated. Charlie did not like my last one, James, but he never said that to my face. When I finally left James, Charlie just told me that he was happy for me and that I deserved better. Even though I still was his baby girl, he trusted me and he let me make my own mistakes. When I needed him he was supportive, and when he knew I wasn't ready for his opinions he kept quiet. He always mended me when I broke, never judging me for the choices I made. He was the best dad a girl could ever want.

I didn't know much about Edward at that point, but I had a feeling he was nothing at all like James. As it turned out, I was right about that. I realized that I was not the same person I used to be when I was with Edward, and it felt nice. Before Edward, I was the girl with the one night stands and the fuck buddies, the girl who used sex to raise her low self esteem. I was the girl who was addicted to the high you get from sex, and craved the feeling of closeness and intimacy that followed even if it was false. I wasn't prepared to admit it, but I didn't feel worthy of love. That changed when I met Edward, because he made me feel worthy again.

I fell in love not only with Edward, but also with the new me, and I desperately wanted to keep both him and the new Bella. I still dealt with the aftermath of my relationship with James, and he was not the most reliable person. I never knew from one day to the next if James considered me his girlfriend, or if he had decided he didn't want me any more. He changed his mind every other day, telling me I was a useless whore on Monday, wanting me to give birth to his children on Tuesday, and cheating on me on Wednesday. It was psychological warfare and it slowly broke me down. I had a hard time believing Edward would actually stay with me. I was afraid he would realize I wasn't girlfriend material and leave, and I would go back to be the same person I was before I met him. I did not want that, and thank God it didn't happen.

**x.x.x**

We've been married for a few years now, have two wonderful kids, and the "happily ever after" we wanted should be right here. But, it feels like I've lost not only Edward and "new Bella," but also our "happily ever after." I don't know why or when it happened and I don't know how to start looking for them. Maybe I should just let them go.

I am making dinner when Edward walks through the door, as I always am. He is late, as usual, and I am not happy about that, as usual. Kate is in her room making Play-Doh cupcakes, "It's for dessert, Mommy," while Benjamin is in our bedroom, bouncing around in our bed. He is not supposed to do that because Edward hates it, but I just can't tell him no. He loves to jump on the bed and it makes him laugh like a maniac. I love to hear that so I let him because I want him to be happy. I used to jump on the bed when I was a kid; it was the funniest thing next to twirling round and round until your head started spinning. I guess Edward wasn't allowed to bounce on his parents' bed, and I know he never used to twirl around getting his head to spin.

When Edward realizes what Benjamin is doing he chases him off the bed, scolding him. Benjamin runs to me, hugging my legs while I stand by the stove. I hear Edward mutter in the hallway about me not taking care of the kids, allowing them to do whatever they want, having no rules and being a lazy ass mum.

_W__hat did he just say? Did he accuse me of being lazy, of not taking care of the kids? Is he out of his mind, does he think I have a fucking housekeeping nanny at the house who takes care of everything while I rest my lazy ass?_

I slowly turn to him, "Excuse me, did you just say something?" I watch him with my teeth clenched.

He huffs and shrugs his shoulders, still mumbling, "No, nothing. I said nothing." He doesn't look at me.

I feel the familiar burn in my forehead indicating I am going to have a complete fit of rage. Somewhere in the back of my mind I realize that I am overreacting, and that I was probably just waiting for him to do something to piss me off. But the more primal parts of my brain take charge of the reasonable ones and ruthlessly throw me into the argument.

_Oh really? We're gonna play this game now? This is so not the time for__ this. I was pissed already and you just made it worse. Bring it on, asshole._

I narrow my eyes at him, "Right… Nothing? That's not what I heard. I heard you being an ass about me not taking care of the children properly."

He is waiting, saying nothing. He crossed a line, and he knows it. When I am angry my face gets blank, void of any emotions, and my voice gets very calm. He knows the signs, and they are all there.

I turn to the pots on the stove, pointing at them with the ladle. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm actually busy making dinner for the kids I don't take proper care of. Oh, and come to think of it, I'm actually making _you_ dinner as well."

I pause, stirring the sauce. He still says nothing, and I continue, "And before making dinner, I took care of some laundry, emptied the dish washer, picked up toys from the floor, and wiped breakfast crumbs off the table."

I put the pots on the table and walk up to him, close. I stare at him and finish, "So excuse me if I let my son jump on the bed, while I take care of _your_ laundry, _your_ dishes, _your_ bread crumbs, and make _your_ dinner. I don't feel like I am your _wife_ any more. It's like I'm your fucking _housekeeper_."

We eat in silence.

**x.x.x**

I decide to go to bed. I say nothing to him; I want to be alone. I brush my teeth, wash my face and I look at myself in the mirror. I feel old and I look tired. I go to bed, curling up under the comforter. This wasn't the life I wanted and I am pretty sure it's not what he wanted either. It wasn't supposed to be this way, and we need to change this because I can't live this life. I'd rather be alone with Kate and Benjamin, than having to take care of a grown man at the same time. I still feel angry after the fight we had, or rather the fight I had with him since he didn't even bother to answer.

_Why didn't he say something?_

Whatever. So what if I let Benji jump on the bed? I did it while making him fucking dinner! That ought to account for something. It's not like dinner gets done by itself, and certainly not by Edward. I should just do nothing and see how long it takes for him to realize that I won't be making dinner. But I can't do that. I have kids, I can't do that to them. They would starve.

I've actually tried that a few times, not doing anything at all and just wait for him to take charge of dinner and cleaning. Nothing happened of course, and finally I caved and made leftovers for dinner and brought the vacuum cleaner out myself. I don't know if he even noticed that dinner was later than usual, or that I didn't vacuum until days later.

I'm so sick of always being the one to run things here. If I don't make sure it gets done, nothing will happen. He helps, all right; if I ask him. But that's not the point. The point is that I'm the fucking CEO of this household, and I don't want to be. If I don't take charge of things, the house wouldn't be cleaned, there would be no dinner, and no clean clothes. Every decision is mine: what to eat, when to eat, when to clean, when to go shopping for groceries, what to buy, everything. All the time it's me thinking about what needs to be done, while he sits there playing games on the PC, totally oblivious to the rest of the family. It's like he's living in a hotel, and I'm room service. I don't want to be room service. I want to be his wife.

I stare out in the dark, pondering this wife thing. A queasy feeling comes creeping upon me.

_A wife kisses her husband when he gets home. __I don't. _

_She makes love to him. __I don't do that, either. _

_She doesn't panic __like I do when he caresses her at night, scared that he might want to have sex. _

_She doesn't have to fight to be able to __breathe when her husband lies next to her. Who does that? Right, that's me. I do that. _

_Wow. I suck at being a wife._

I feel bad, really bad. I want to vomit when I realize something is wrong, much more wrong than I thought. I don't feel like I'm me anymore, I'm never "just Bella." I'm actually "no Bella" and I realize that's where these feelings of losing the "new Bella" come from. Instead there are all these different women that I have to be: I am a hard working professional during day. Then I pick the kids up at kindergarten and turn into Mommy. When I get home it's time for the cook. Some days I am the housekeeper as well, cleaning and washing. And when I go to bed I am supposed to turn into wife or mistress, well, that's just one too many. Wife and mistress can go to hell because I just want to sleep. Sleep and weep, quietly so he doesn't hear. I am lonely, even if he is right beside me. I'm never "just Bella" any more, and I feel so guilty for not being the wife he wants and probably deserves. I hate myself.

I wanted this to be our house, our life, our "happily ever after," and now I am nothing but the housekeeper.

_Not that I __even act like a wife, anyway. I act like the housekeeper. Why would he treat me like a wife when I won't treat him like a husband? _

_I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't even want me as his wife any__ more. Maybe that serves me right._

The word I never wanted to think about is slowly entering my mind, floating to the surface.

Divorce.

I cry myself to sleep.


	4. Reminiscence and Rising Fear

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just borrowed the names. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without written authorization. ©2010 SwedenSara. All rights reserved worldwide.**

**Thank you JillM12 and imcarriej, my betas on this chapter. Jill, you are so helpful and encouraging! Please stick with me!**

* * *

_**Reminiscence and Rising Fear**_

**x.x.x**

EPOV

We are having dinner in silence; Bella is still angry and I am still upset with myself. I shouldn't have said those things. I knew it the moment the words came out of my mouth, and to be honest, I didn't really mean the things I said either. Bella took care of everything at home and implying that she didn't look after the kids properly was quite cruel.

I cannot believe how stupid I am sometimes, and I don't know why I do these things since I clearly see how it affects her. I never thought I would be the person to be mean to her on purpose, but still I am. What really pisses me off is that I don't even apologize to her. I know I should, and I want to, but the words get stuck in my throat and it is so frustrating. None of the things I want to tell her seem to come out, and instead I say horrible things, yell at the kids, and lash out at random stuff like the computer not being fast enough or my wallet being in the wrong place. Nothing about that is even remotely Bella's fault, or the kids', and yet I take it out on them. My temper has gotten worse and I don't particularly like myself this way.

_At least I got a reaction out of her._

I frown at the thought. I would not be surprised if that is the reason I do these things all the time. I want her to notice me again. It's not the kind of attention I would prefer, but it snaps her out of that bubble she seems to walk around in nowadays.

Sometimes she just sits on the couch, staring into the air with absent eyes. Those warm, brown eyes used to dance and sparkle, displaying her every emotion giving her no chance of hiding anything. I could tell what she was feeling just by looking into them, and now it's as if she's not even in there.

I don't recognize the girl I married. She was the most alive, warm and vivacious girl I had ever met. There was something about her that was almost fervent, and I was drawn to her like a moth to a flame. I could watch her forever; her vivid gestures when she spoke, her smiles, the way she bit her lower lip when she was nervous, and how she twirled her brown hair with her fingers when she was in deep thought.

Now she keeps her hands folded when she speaks, and she is collected in a sort of strained way. She bites her lip constantly, she seems distant, and she answers in monosyllables when I speak to her. I don't recognize her, but to be fair I don't recognize myself either. I do and say things I never thought I would.

She never used to be so preoccupied. Something is clearly bothering her and I wish she would tell me what it is, but I realize I haven't exactly shown any interest in her feelings lately. I spend little time at home, and when I do I sit in front of the computer or watch TV.

**x.x.x**

I finish my meal and clear the table, putting the plates in the dish washer. She made dinner; at least I can take care of this part. She has already left the table, and is now giving Benji the "every night tooth brush fight," as Kate calls it. Benji is a lovely kid, but getting his teeth brushed is his least favourite thing to do and I'm not proud of myself for leaving that to Bella most of the time.

Actually I leave almost everything to Bella, which is absolutely not fair to her. When we moved in together we discussed this several times. She is quite the feminist and made it clear that she expected me to take equal responsibility for our home and future kids. Of course I agreed, because this was – and still is – my opinion as well. I see now that I don't live up to the promise I made back then.

_What if she doesn't want me anymore? What if that's __why she's so distant all the time?_

I close my eyes as the thought hits me like a wrecking ball. I steady myself against the sink and my hands are trembling. I wouldn't be surprised if that is the case, it's not like I've been the greatest husband lately. She is her own woman, perfectly capable of taking care of herself, and she certainly doesn't need a man to survive. She has survived without my help for quite some time now to be honest. All those things she said after my stupid muttering earlier, she was right about everything. _Everything_.

_She is leaving me.__ She is the love of my life and I screwed up. She is leaving me. Fuck._

I hear her rummaging about in the bathroom, getting ready for bed. I know she won't tell me good night or ask me to come to bed. My mind races as I'm meticulously overhauling our marriage the past year. All the signs are there, mocking me. Of course she is leaving, how could I not see that earlier? It all makes sense: the way she recoils from my touch, how she never says "I love you," and the fact that she gets almost paralysed when I try to hug her in bed.

She probably thinks I haven't noticed, but I know she cries almost every night. I hear her quiet sobs when I pass our room, and when I enter she holds her breath pretending to sleep. That doesn't fool me, but I have never once asked her why she is sad. I pretend not to hear her and go to sleep beside her every night. I think maybe I'm afraid of what she might answer if I do ask, and her constant rejection keeps me from giving her the comfort she probably needs.

Last but not least, the most obvious sign of them all: the total lack of sex. She used to be the queen of sex, the utter opposite to my last girlfriend. Tanya was all about lights out, in the bed, under the blanket, missionary style. Bella took what she wanted, when she wanted, how she wanted. She didn't care if it was dark or broad daylight, if we were on the bed, the kitchen table, against the wall, in the shower or even outdoors. She was under me, on top of me, her back to me; whatever she wanted she also did. She expressed her sexuality in a way I never could – and still can't – and I admired that.

I still want her. She is the most beautiful, sexy creature I have ever seen. I have dreams and needs I've never told her about, things I secretly hope would eventually happen. I want to experience these things with her, do certain things to her and show her my inner desires, but I never had the guts to tell her.

Those dreams will continue to be just dreams, because she is leaving me. I'm certain of it now.

_Fuck._


	5. Love and Laundry

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just borrowed the names. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without written authorization. ©2010 SwedenSara. All rights reserved worldwide.**

**Thank you JillM12 and Lezlee, my betas on this chapter. Jill, thank you for the banner!**

* * *

_**Love and Laundry**_

I come home after picking up Kate and Benjamin at kindergarten and preschool. I had the shittiest day at work, and I was so stressed out I actually forgot where I parked the car this morning and ran around two different parking lots looking for it. I fell asleep last night with the word "divorce" echoing in my head, and it has been lingering in the back of my mind all day. I keep coming back to that thought over and over, and the initial feeling is relief: if I am on my own with the kids I will escape the guilt of not being a good enough wife. I won't have to take care of a grown man; he'll have to take care of himself.

But then again, that will leave to me alone to take care of the kids when they get sick. If I get sick, nobody will help me. I will have no one to help me with cleaning, laundry or dishes. That will be me shovelling snow, me mowing the lawn, me washing the car. All those things Edward does now; they will be done by me alone. That's some really heavy work. Maybe he does more domestic chores than I realize, he just does most of them outdoors. Even though I sometimes feel like I do all of the house work and cleaning, Edward's usual chores even that out, most of the time.

_What would he say if I told him I wanted a divor__ce? Would he be sad, angry, or would he be relieved that I brought it up? Does he want to get out of this dead marriage as well? He should._

I know Edward isn't happy either. I see it in his eyes every time I turn away from him, every time my body freezes and recoils from his touch. I see the sadness. He must hate this as much as I do. He is better off without me, for sure. There must be hundreds of women out there waiting for a guy like him; after all he is one of the good ones. He may be the best actually, if I look at him objectively. He is nice, loving and helpful, and he is handsome with his slim but well-toned body, sharp features, bronze tousled hair and intensely green eyes. He is actually quite the catch. All those fun, beautiful, sexy women out there would surely kiss him when he gets home, make love to him at night and be the woman he deserves.

I, on the other hand, don't feel fun, beautiful and sexy. I don't like my body any more, it's slowly decaying. My boobs used to be firm and perky, the perfect B cup. After breastfeeding two babies they feel more like empty pouches. My once firm ass is slowly getting flatter and my belly is going the opposite direction; it used to be flat and hard, and now it's a soft potbelly. When I lean forward the loose skin on my abdomen – the "pregnancy leftovers" as I like to call it – wrinkle in a not so sexy way. And my poor, poor vagina, which I once was told was the tightest pussy ever, is probably more like a bucket after giving birth twice. Even if I did have sex with Edward he surely wouldn't like it that much, I must have turned into a lousy lay. I am actually doing him a favour, turning him down in bed. Not having sex with him also means that I am not calling attention to the fact that I may not be as great in bed as I used to be. If you think about it I am doing myself a favour as well.

**x.x.x**

I sigh and watch my kids run to the bowl of fruit, sitting on the counter. Kate is being a good big sister, peeling a banana for Benjamin before grabbing one for her self. She's only five years old, but since Benji was born three years ago she's enjoyed taking care of him. Benjamin takes the banana with his chubby hand and settles himself on the floor. Kate takes her usual place in the corner of the couch and I turn the TV on.

As I go to the freezer to bring out a box of frozen Bolognese, I hear the "the Fairly Odd Parents" theme song from the TV. I put the Bolognese in the microwave to defrost and head for the laundry room. I have such a bad conscience for using the TV as a babysitter again. I feel like the worst mother ever. I should be with my kids, reading stories and kissing them. Instead I let "Cosmo and Wanda; Fairly Odd Parents" take care of the kids so I can do the laundry.

I look at the clean clothes that need to be folded and instead of taking care of that I decide to start by throwing more dirty clothes in the washing machine.

_The clean clothes are mostly Edwards anyway. He can fold them himself._ _How many t-shirts can one man have, seriously?_

When I am stuffing the washing machine with white sheets and underwear, Benjamin joins me, apparently thinking this laundry game seems fun.

"I can help you mommy. I'm a big boy!" he states proudly while blocking the washing machine with his small frame.

"Yes you are, honey, but I want to do this by myself, okay?" I lift him up and move him out of my way.

"No you don't. You want to go play with my cars." He looks sternly at me while pointing his finger towards his room.

"Really Benji, just let me finish this. I want to get it done." I'm starting to feel annoyed and struggle to keep it from showing.

Benji is set on doing the laundry for me. He pulls some of the whites out, putting in black and blue clothes instead, and I snap. I yell at him, telling him to get his ass out of my laundry room. His eyes fill with tears and he runs out, sobbing.

_Fuck. I really am the worst mother.__ The kids are probably better of with Cosmo and Wanda anyway._

I sit down on the pile of dirty laundry, leaning against the wall. Here I am, doing fucking laundry while my kids are crying. I'll probably end up folding the damned t-shirts too. I close my eyes and get lost in thoughts of what used to be, barely noticing Benjamin silently coming back to me, curling up in my lap while I bury my nose in his hair.

I remember I used to enjoy this once, doing things for Edward; and not only for him, as a matter of fact. When we started dating he had this room mate, Emmet. He was an unbelievably large and muscular guy with short brown hair, happy eyes and a burly laugh; the kind of guy that fried a family sized pack of minced meat for breakfast and then ate it all. He used to scoop me up and carry me around under his arm. I enjoyed doing small domestic things for Edward and Emmet; doing their laundry, folding their t-shirts, cooking and washing the dishes. Neither of them expected me to do this, and that was probably what made me feel so good about it. They were nice to me, and I wanted to give something back. Doing things for not only Edward, but for Emmet as well, was maybe my weird way of telling Edward how much I cared. I wanted him to love me so badly that I took care of his friend too. Folding t-shirts was me saying "I love you." Nowadays I don't want to fold his t-shirts, and I don't say "I love you."

I always sucked on that "I love you" part. I still suck at it. I know Edward craves it, that he needs to hear it. He tells me he loves me, but I can hardly say it back. I mumble something like "thanks honey" or "ditto" and then pretend to be busy with something else. I know I am a bitch, but these words scare me; both saying them and hearing them. The last person I said those words to before I met Edward was James; James, the ex boyfriend; James, the asshole; James, the Bella-breaker. I said these words to him and it came back biting me in the ass, hard. I told him I loved him, and he called me a whore. He told me he loved me, and then he cheated on me. I thought I deserved it, James told me so and I believed him.

_I didn't deserve it._

I think now that the only reason I stayed with him for so long, was the fact that I actually thought I deserved to be treated that way. He made me feel like nothing, and that's what I thought I was. I was nothing. He was the punishment I sentenced myself to for being the whore I felt I was deep down. I had been with so many boys. It was such a rush getting that kind of attention, but coming down from that feeling really sucked, and that's what made me go back out for more the next weekend even though I knew I shouldn't. My relationship with James was unhealthy in many ways, but it kept those urges down, and when I left James I went straight back to that life. Then I met Edward and everything changed.

I am not a whore to Edward, and I am not a whore to me anymore either. Edward is the one who made me love myself again, but I can feel that slipping away. I don't love myself anymore, and maybe that's why I feel the love for Edward fading away. If I don't even love myself, how can I love someone else? I can't believe how stupid I am, letting myself ruin this. I suddenly realize I want to love me, and I want to love Edward. I want to feel like I am worthy of love – his love – again, but I just don't know how to do it.

_He could find someone else. He could choose to leave me and find__ someone fun, beautiful and sexy._

Until now I've seen myself as the one ending this relationship, but it might actually be him making that decision. My stomach turns and my eyes fill with tears when I imagine Edward leaving me for another woman. That's a reaction I am not expecting. The warning signals my body gives me when I am close to him; I always thought they were due to lack of love. Now as I think that he might want the divorce, that he might meet, love and caress another woman, I want to cry. The thought of him not wanting me is nerve-wrecking and I struggle to interpret this feeling.

_Maybe I a__ctually don't want a divorce. Maybe I still feel love for him, and my wrenched gut and aching heart is trying to tell me that. I don't know where this love is, but I'll start looking and I won't stop until I find it._

I'm still sitting on the pile of laundry, with Benji curled up in my lap. He's slowly twisting a strand of my hair with his small fingers, his head leaning against my chest. I close my eyes and sniff his head, stroking my nose against his soft hair. He smells like sunshine, and I let the scent fill my nostrils, my mind and my heart before I open my eyes and smile at him.

"Hey Benji, do you want me to read a book?"

He lifts his face to mine, pokes my nose with his index finger, and giggles. "Mommy, can you read Bambi with the pretty pictures?"

I poke his cheek and giggle back at him. "Of course I can, sweetie. That was my favourite when I was a kid, you know!"

We get out of the laundry room and I pick up my old Bambi book, the one with the Mirko Hanák illustrations. Kate joins us as we sit down on the couch, and I start to read. Halfway through the story Edward comes home, earlier than usual. He sits down next to us, listening quietly. I always cry when I read that story: Bambi does that to me every time and the beautiful pictures make it worse. I feel a tear slide down my cheek when the story ends. Edward raises his hand and wipes it away gently, and before I realize what I'm doing I lean my head against his hand.

_His hand is on my cheek. It's weird, but this almost feels nice.__ Maybe there is a glimmer of hope after all._

* * *

**A/N Mirko Hanák's illustrations for "Bambi – a life in the woods" can be found here: **

http://www (dot) flickr (dot) com/photos/onnder/sets/72157620170399757/


	6. Gardening and Growing Hope

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just borrowed the names. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without written authorization. ©2010 SwedenSara. All rights reserved worldwide.**

**Thank you JillM12, netracullen and krisbcullen, my betas on this chapter! **

_**

* * *

**_

_**Gardening and Growing Hope**_

The weeks are passing by slowly, each day the same as the next, but I can feel the approaching spring lightening my feelings. I enjoy the sound of the birds and the slowly warming air. The sun makes my gloomy winter white skin tingle, the frost has thawed and the earth has softened. The smell of damp soil is titillating my nostrils, making me muse on what new plants to buy, which sort of rose to add to the flower bed by the terrace, and if I should divide or not divide the Hosta plants this year. I'm looking forward to the summer. Edward and I are balancing on a thin line relationship-wise: we both know we have some issues that need to be addressed, but our last weeks have been calm and almost nice, and the fights have been rare. It's like we're living in a fragile truce and neither of us wants to be the one to break it. It has to happen eventually, and I know I need to be the one to bring it up. But I'm scared, so I say nothing, and neither does he. Our house is calm but quiet these days.

I use this quiet calm to think. I need to tell him how I feel about always being in charge of this household. I need to talk to him about how we can make things work at home, about things I need him to do for me. I'm guessing there are things he needs me to do for him, too. I think I already know what those things are, and I'm trying to figure out what to say to him about that. If I know my husband, and I think it's safe to say that I do, he'll have some things to say about me not showing him affection. His biggest issue isn't the lack of sexual affection, I'm quite sure of that. It's the small things that bother him the most, the absence of everyday gestures to show that I care about him. That, and the fact that I don't tell him I love him anymore.

I have almost figured out what to say to him, how to address this domestic issue of ours, and now I just need to find a good time to talk to him. But when the hell is that? Is there a good time for these kinds of discussions, or should I just take the bull by the horns and get it over with? Somewhere deep inside I'm afraid that this discussion will lead to a bigger one, dealing with other issues. I'm still not sure if he even wants this marriage to last. I realize I'm probably not the wife he would prefer, I realize that. I'm scared that, by bringing up the things I'm not happy with, I'll also end up hearing about all the things that displease him. Even though I already know how disappointing I must be as a wife, it would be unbearable to hear it from him.

I'm getting frustrated with my inability to make up my mind, and I decide to take it out on the garden, turning the dirt over with the pitchfork, digging in and breaking the clods with my bare hands. The tension, guilt, and anger I feel are being directed toward the ground, and with every shove I hide it deeper, feeling it simmer down and disappear. Few things are as satisfying as this: preparing the garden for the plants I intend to buy, plant, and nourish until they bloom. I bury my sadness in my garden and instead I prepare to fill it with happy colours and lovely scents. Kate and Benji are digging with their small spades in one of the flower beds, and I decide to leave that small corner for them to cultivate.

**x.x.x**

Edward has been out of the house the entire morning, helping his dad with some reconstruction on their summer house. He returns just as I hurt my back trying to move a fairly large rock that has come up to the surface because of the ground frost. I straighten my back and groan, my face twisted from pain.

"Jesus, Bella, what happened? What did you do?" He looks worried as he runs over to me, and urges me to sit down.

"It's nothing; I think I twisted my back when I tried to get that stupid stone out of the flower bed." I try to calm him down, because really, it's nothing to worry about. I hurt myself all the time, slamming my toes into doorsteps, walking into the corners of tables, hitting my head into cupboards in the kitchen. I don't even feel it anymore; I just add another black and blue mark to my body and move on. Every now and then I find bruises that I don't even recall getting. It's not a big deal to me.

"What the hell, why do you even do this stuff! Why don't you leave those things to me?" He raises his voice, and I feel his anger increase.

I hate this. I hate that he implies that I'm not capable of doing these things myself. He does that so often, trying to take things over. If I struggle to open a can, he takes it from me. If I'm reaching for something on the top shelf, he pushes me aside to take it down. If I try to pick up a fucking stone from the ground, he tells me to stop so he can do it for me. He makes me feel incompetent, like a damsel in distress, and I don't like to feel that way. I'm a strong, independent woman, and I don't need his help. Well, I'm not actually strong, I have to admit that. But I'm independent. And I don't need his help.

_This is so freaking weird. I'm upset because he wants __to help me, when I've just spent the last days – no wait, weeks or months is more accurate – thinking about how I'd like him to help me _more_. _

_Am I losing my mind?__ I'm such a stupid bitch sometimes._

I sigh and let him take care of the stone.

"You know I like to do things by myself. It makes me feel good." I tell him. Maybe this is a time as good as anyone to have the talk.

"Yes, I know, I just wish you weren't so goddamned stubborn! I want to help you, and I don't like to see you getting hurt." He's still agitated, I can hear that. He loosens the stone with the pitchfork, and then lifts it up easily and tosses it aside. That is so unfair, and even though I'm oddly satisfied by watching him work, it pisses me off that I can't do that by myself.

"Well, I know you want to help, but I feel like you think I'm incompetent when you try to take things over like that. It feels demeaning."

He stares at me, running his now soiled hands through his ruffled hair. I notice some dirt getting stuck in it, and in my mind I stand up to brush it away. In reality, I stay seated instead, wringing my hands nervously. I feel stupid to bring this up. I wish I could have kept my mouth shut, because the cat's out of the bag now, and I'm sure that soon I'll have to hear about all the things I do to disappoint him.

"You feel what?" he asks, incredulously.

"Well, you heard me. And if you want to help me, there are other things I'd rather have you do." I stare down on the still brown winter grass at my feet. I hold my breath, waiting for his response.

_This is it, you have to talk about it now._

"Okay…" His voice wavers. I lift my eyes to see a strange expression pass over his face, and I wonder what that's all about.

I brace myself, and start talking.

"You know, I've been feeling kind of tired lately, about lots of things. I feel like I do almost everything around the house, and I don't want it to be that way."

He says nothing, so I continue.

"It's not like you're not helping me if I ask for it, but that's the problem. I _always_ have to ask. You never do the laundry unless I tell you to do it. You never clean the house; you just wait for me to do it. Even when I'm cleaning, you do nothing to help unless I ask. I can vacuum and wipe the floors right in front of you, and you never once ask me if you can help. You never make dinner, and if I didn't do all these things, or tell you to do them, they would never be done." I hold my breath, waiting for him to say something.

"I suppose you're right. I know I should do more to help you." he simply says.

_So that's what the look on his face was about: he really knew this already. So then why has__n't he…_

He interrupts my thoughts, continuing to speak.

"I just… I don't feel like doing laundry, cleaning, and stuff, because there are things I need from you that I don't feel like I'm getting. I know it's childish of me to punish you for it like that, but… " His brows furrows, while he thinks.

_Right… here it comes…_

_Wait, why is he still silent?_

I start talking again. "Edward, I know I'm not… affectionate enough. But I'm so tired all the time. It's like I have too many women that I'm supposed to be."

_Yes, this is it. I need him to understand__ this._

He watches me silently, and I decide to continue.

"You know, when I'm at work, I'm this very professional person, making decisions all the time, running things, getting things done. When I pick the kids up I turn into mommy, giving them love and affection, keeping them from fighting, making decisions for them when they don't get along. When I'm at home I have all this laundry to take care of, a house to clean, dinner to make, and suddenly I'm the housekeeper. And when you get home you want me to be woman number four, the loving wife. And I don't have the energy left to be woman number four."

As I speak, I watch him shift his stance, growing more and more uncomfortable. He scratches the stubble on his cheek, pinches his nose and runs his hand through his hair again. I start to feel bad for him.

_This is hard for him to hear. I need to go easy on him._

"I hate to be in charge of everything at home. I'm so sick of making all the decisions. It would be so nice if I knew some things were done by you, without me even asking. So maybe if you did help me a bit more, I would have more energy left. And maybe then I could try to be more affectionate? Do you think that would work?" I ask him, because I'm not sure about this either. Maybe this is the reason I feel this strange aversion towards him touching me. I don't really know, but it's worth a try.

He sits down next to me, sighing. When he turns to me I see a spark of resolution in his green eyes.

"Let's do this. We'll divide some things up. One weekend I clean the house, while you take the kids shopping for groceries. And the next weekend you clean the house, while I go shopping. And the laundry… can we do that together? It's fucking boring."

I stare at him, not knowing what to say.

_Did he just make a decision? Did he just decide, and told me how we'll do this__, without asking my opinion and waiting for me to decide, like he always does?_

_God, that's such a relief! He took charge of things. He didn't leave this to me. He decided on his own. That is… so nice. And maybe a little… hot?_

"Uhm… okay. That sounds great. Would you do that for me?" I ask, not really believing what just happened.

"Of course. Because you're right, you know. You always are. But can you please keep making dinner? You know I suck at that. I don't want to serve you and the kids my crappy meals; they taste like shit. I'll do all the dishes if you just cook. Please don't make me cook."

I smile at him. Of course I can cook. I love that.

"You won't have to cook. We'll split things up, and I'll try to show more affection. Do we have a deal?"

"We have a deal." He stands up in front of me, and leans towards me. I feel my body stiffen, and the anxiety grows, but I try not to move.

_I promised him I'd try. Be still, be still, be still…_

He kisses me gently on the cheek, smiles, and walks away. There is lightness to his steps, he looks content. I remain seated, my body still unwilling to move. Even though it feels good to finally have talked to him about this, I'm so angry with myself for reacting like this to his touch. I need to change; it's just a kiss, for crying out loud. That shouldn't be so hard to give him, considering he's offered to help out more at home.

I take deep breaths, trying to make my tense body relax. After a while I get up, ignore the pain in my back, and start working the dirt with the pitchfork, burying my feelings in the ground again.


	7. Photographs and Phobias

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just borrowed the names. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without written authorization. ©2010 SwedenSara. All rights reserved worldwide.**

**Thank you JillM12 and netracullen, my betas on this chapter! **

* * *

_**Photographs and Phobias**_

Sometimes when I pass through the hallway of our house I look at the pictures hanging there. They are three black and white photos from when we just started dating. In the pictures we are dancing and kissing. They were taken at the pub, and I remember the night. We were glued together like Siamese twins, always touching, always turned slightly against each other.

It was the same night Jake took Edward outside for a talk. Jake never told me what he said to him, but Edward did. He had told Edward that if he ever hurt me, Jake would hang him upside down in a tree, cut him open and make a tie out of his entrails. I laughed so hard I almost peed myself, since this was so far out of Jake's character that you'd need a spaceship to get there. But I got what he meant by it and so did Edward. Jake kept looking out for me even though he didn't have to.

I usually avoid looking at the pictures in the hallway. It feels so distant, like it was a hundred years ago. I usually try not to think about the love we had, because I'm afraid I'll fall apart. I remember the feeling, I know it used to be there and I'm trying to find it, but I can't and that scares me. All I find is an aching place next to the warm and vibrant love for Kate and Benji, my kids. _Sorry. Our kids._

The way I used to feel about him touching me is gone. I couldn't get enough of his hands, his touch and his kisses, but now I tense up when he gets near me, and he feels it. I can tell it makes him sad, but I don't know why I react that way and I don't know what to tell him. I thought it was about me not loving him, but I don't want it to be that way and I've realized I still have some kind of feelings for him. But where the hell are they?

**x.x.x**

I'm making dinner when I hear his car on the driveway. Kate runs to the door, screaming happily as he scoops her up and holds her upside down. He runs his hands through his hair and walks up to me. Standing behind me he watches the pots on the stove and asks me what's for dinner. He lays a tentative hand on my shoulder and I freeze, feeling my body reacting to his touch and turning rigid.

Why does this happen every time? I need to find a way to make this stop because I hate my body for doing this. I feel the tears burn behind my closed eyelids. I hear him sigh as he removes his hand, and I realize I had stopped breathing.

_I don't want this to happen. _

I inhale shakily, brace myself, and turn around, greeting him with a small smile asking how his day has been. We make small talk, I tell him about my day but don't mention the fact that I sat in the car crying before I picked the kids up. He doesn't need to know that. He sets the table and we sit down, talking to Kate and Benji and giving each other a few tentative smiles. It is a relief. Dinners have been worse.

We have an understanding when it comes to dinner. I make it; he clears the table and takes care of the dishes. Kate and Benji want me to read a book, so we cuddle in the corner of the couch with "Bambi" while Edward starts loading the dish washer. I keep an eye on the kitchen, hearing him mutter and slam things around. Later I notice he left the pots on the table again. I silently take care of the rest before I put the kids to sleep. It annoys me that he can't take care of the dirty dishes without sounding angry, and that he always seems to forget about the pots. A few weeks ago I would have made a snide remark about that, but now I choose not to. It probably won't make things better anyway.

**x.x.x**

Later that night Edward decides to come to bed at the same time as me, which is odd because usually he stays up for a long time. We lie in bed, me on my side with my back to him, he on his back facing the ceiling. I lay still, wondering what he's up to.

_Maybe if I pretend to sleep…_

I feel his move even before he makes it, the slight shift in the tense air before he changes his position, sliding infinitesimally closer to me. He gently places his hand on the small of my back. It feels soft and warm against my skin. He doesn't move, just lets his hand rest there. My body immediately protests to his tender touch; my heart races, my muscles stiffen and my stomach turns into a painful knot. I try to will my body into submission, try to control it with my mind, but instead I feel my breath growing fast and shallow and my subconscious starts going through different ways of getting myself out of the situation. Suddenly I find myself standing by the bed. Edward stares at me, startled by my sudden movement and hurt from my rejection.

"I have to go to the bathroom, I'm sorry" I croak, before I hastily stumble out of the bedroom.

My legs start to crumple when I lock the bathroom door, and I lean against the wall. I feel the chilly tiles against my bare back, cooling my skin and slowly erasing the lingering feeling of his hand that burns deep in my flesh. I slide down to the floor, resting against the wall with my legs stretched out in front of me. My body feels weak from the tension. As the tiles soothe my back and the darkness of the room embraces me, I feel my breath slow down and my heart settle for a quieter pace.

I empty my mind and sit there with my eyes closed for a long time, thinking of nothing. After a while I begin to feel chilly, and my brain starts to function again.

_That didn't just happen. Not again._

It did happen, again. My husband touched me, and I ran. This was a genuine "fight or flight" mechanism, and the primal parts of my brain told my body to flee from the danger. My traitorous body reacted to my husband's soft, warm and loving touch, as if he was the world's most dangerous predator.

_Oh, this is fucked up. This is so fucked up, in more ways__ than I can even count. What the hell is the matter with me?_

I stare out in the dark, shaking my head.

_Well, he's not a predator. He won't hurt me. All he wants is to love me. Where's the danger in that?_

I sigh and rise from the floor. Maybe it's time to deal with this. He has to wonder what my problem is. Well, so do I to be honest. I return to our bedroom and slide back under the sheets.

**x.x.x**

"Edward?" I whisper. "Are you asleep?"

I see his shape in the dark; he's lying on his side with his back to me. It feels almost like a rejection, seeing him like that.

_That's how I usually lie in bed._

"No," he says, "I'm still awake. Why?"

I'm quiet for a while, thinking. I don't really know what to say to him. I just know we have to talk about this now.

"I'm… I don't…" I close my eyes, cursing silently inside. "Shit, I don't know where to start!" I blurt out.

He's on his back now, staring on the ceiling, barely breathing and waiting for me to continue.

I will myself to speak again, letting my thoughts out without really thinking.

"Are you happy? Because I'm not happy and I don't really know why."

He thinks about his answer for a long time. I'm beginning to suspect he's sleeping, when he suddenly starts speaking quietly.

"No, I already guessed you aren't happy. I don't know what to do to make you happy and that's really frustrating."

I sigh, relieved that he hadn't fallen asleep, but noticing that he actually didn't answer my question. _Why didn't he answer? Is he trying to keep something from me?_ I hesitate before I continue.

"Yeah, I don't know that either. I don't know anything, anymore. I don't feel…" I stop talking, not sure what to say.

"What? What don't you feel?" His voice sounds strained, it trembles slightly and breaks at the last word.

I ponder his question.

_What do__n't I feel? Do I feel anything at all? It's all a blur. _

I realize I probably feel a lot of things, but it's hard to distinguish them. I try to decipher them, out loud, so he can hear my thoughts.

"Well… I don't feel… No, that's not the right words, I do feel. I feel angry, and sad. I'm tired all the time, and I feel frustrated. I'm not happy with myself."

_Yeah. That's pretty much it. There are a lot o__f things about myself that make me unhappy._

"Okay… How do you feel about me?" His words slowly float across the bed, hover in the air and assault me with full power.

_Shit. Not that question. Please, I'll answer anything but that. Shit._

I'm quiet. I don't know what to say, because I don't know how to explain something I don't even know myself.

"Well, that sounds great. Thanks for that, I guess that silence tells me everything I need to know" he whispers.

_Shit. Shit, shit, shit._

"So, I guess you want a divorce? I can call our lawyer in the morning." His voice is getting cold and acidic. I don't like his voice when he's like this. He's mad at me, and hurt, and it makes me want to cry.

_I need to fix this. _

I don't want a divorce, I know that. I've known since that day in the laundry room, when the thought of him with someone else made me want to puke. I've known since he wiped my Bambi-induced tears away, and his touch actually felt safe and nice.

I turn slowly to him. I feel anger, hurt and despair rolling from him in thick waves.

"I don't want a divorce, Edward."

"Then what _do_ you want? Because I can clearly tell you don't want me anymore!" He raises his voice. "Don't you think I see what you're doing? Don't you think I feel how you react every time I'm close to you? You're disgusted by me!"

"No Edward! That's not true! I… Ah, shit! I know I act strange. My body keeps reacting in this weird way every time you touch me, and when I _think_ you're going to touch me, even if you actually don't do it, the same thing happens. Like before, when I fled to the bathroom. I don't even know why I do that! I can't figure it out!" I'm feeling desperate now, wanting to explain and not knowing how.

I'm rambling on, my words stumbling out erratic and confused. "It's like I get this panic attack. I can't fucking breathe, and I get so scared that you'll want to touch me and I'll react like that again, and I hate to reject you but I honestly think I'll have a breakdown if you do, and then I just…" My voice trails off.

_Panic attack. That's what this__ sounds like. Jake suffered from anxiety hysteria when he was younger; this is exactly how he explained his attacks to me. How stupid am I? How did I not see this before?_

"You can't breathe?" Edward's question is tentative, his voice is suddenly concerned.

"No…I can't…" I eye him warily, not sure how he'll react to my sudden revelation.

"Oh. I'm so sorry about that, I had no idea… Is it like this every time I touch you? What can I do? What if I don't touch you at all? Would that help?" He sounds anxious.

_Wait – is he offering to stop touching me? __Would he do that for me if it made me feel better?_

_Do I want him to stop touching me? That's just… not right. This is a marriage. He's my husband._

"I _think_ I still want you to touch me, Edward, but I want my body to stop doing this to me. And it's _not_ every time you touch me. You remember when you got home early and I read Bambi a few weeks ago? You touched me then and it wasn't bad. It was nice to feel your hand against my cheek."

I can hear him smile. "Yeah, I remember that…"

A thought enters my head, and it makes me giggle. It's so silly, but I remember something about arachnophobia I saw on TV some time ago. My issues probably aren't even related to phobias, I can't imagine this problem being so severe. But there are some similarities, and the tension between us gives me an urge to make a joke about it.

"What? Why are you laughing?" Edward sounds amused and annoyed at the same time, it's like he's not knowing how to feel right now.

"I've got Edwardophobia!"

"Yeah, that's not funny at all." He says indignantly.

"Well, it's actually great. I think I need you to give me some therapy for this. Do you know how they treat phobias?" I smile.

"No, do you?"

"Actually I do. One successful treatment is exposure therapy." My smile gets wider. The tension in the room is almost gone now, and it feels nice.

"Oh… Exposure therapy, you say? Hmmm. That sounds nice…" His voice lightens, and then he gets concerned again. "Do you think we can do this on our own, though?"

"Yeah, I don't see why not? You should be able to touch me, and I should be able to enjoy it, right?"

_Maybe I'm on to something here!__ Of course this isn't actual therapy, but if we work slowly things might change for the better._

I continue to speak, not wanting to let this idea go. "You know, I saw this documentary on TV a while ago. It was about a girl with arachnophobia who was exposed to spiders in different ways; she eventually got rid of it and was able to pet a big, fat, hairy, ugly bird spider!"

"What? Are you telling me I'm big, fat, hairy and ugly? Damn woman, that hurts!" He scoffs, feigning to be wounded.

I laugh at him, and he smiles his crooked grin. It's been a long time since we've laughed together. I watch him, remembering that grin from when we first met. He was adorable. Seeing him like this, he still is. I haven't noticed that in a while.

"So, no divorce then?" He asks.

_I want to be able to touch him and be touched by him, and __I'll send myself to love boot camp to do that. Fuck me, I'm changing this. Then maybe he'll be able to actually fuck me again._

_That would be nice._

"Nope, no divorce. I'll go with the exposure therapy." I declare.


	8. Shabby Tshirts and Silky Dresses

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just borrowed the names. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without written authorization. ©2010 SwedenSara. All rights reserved worldwide.**

**Thank you JillM12 and netracullen, my betas on this chapter! **

* * *

_**Shabby T-shirts and Silky Dresses**_

**__****x.x.x**

EPOV

I'm standing in the kitchen, eyeing the family calendar Bella bought a few weeks ago after we decided I should help her more. She figured it would be easier for all of us to keep track of our family plans with it.

_It would be easier for me to keep track. She keeps it all in her head. I tend to forget all the time._

We also use the calendar to write down the "who's doing what" on weekends, when it comes to the chores at the house. This is my shopping weekend, which means I have to make some sort of grocery list. I suck at that, I can't even think of what to eat for a week, let alone figure out what we need to buy. I turn to Bella to ask her, like I always do.

"Hey Bella, I don't know what to plan for dinners this week. Do you have any ideas?"

She is sitting in her robe by the table, reading the morning paper. She slowly sips her tea, smirks and raises an eyebrow at me.

_Uh oh. Wrong thing to ask. I should have known._

"I have no idea, Edward. I think this is your grocery weekend, so you'll just have to figure it out." She turns to the newspaper again, and continues to read. I can see the corners of her mouth turn into a small smile.

_Fuck, I'm stupid sometimes. This is exactly what she means by __her "being in charge". I'm not supposed to ask her questions like this. _

I open the freezer and rummage through the boxes, trying to get a grip on what's in there.

_She knows what's in the freezer. She knows without even having to look. _

I stare at the frozen minced meat, the chicken breasts and the pork chops. Okay… what can we do with this? My mind is blank, and I'm starting to feel embarrassed.

_What kind of moron am I, if I can't even figure out what to eat?_

"Ahem" I hear her clear her throat. "Edward, I have a list of different meals that are easy to make with the stuff we usually have at home. Maybe you want to check it out?"

_Thank__ god. She decided to help me._

She hands me the list and I sit down by the table, going through the different suggestions. This is brilliant, how come I've never noticed she has this list?

_Right. I never used to help her with this. I was usually watching TV while she made the grocery lists._

I feel stupid, but push it aside and go to work on my grocery mission. I need to recheck the freezer and the cupboards a few times, forgetting what was in them too quickly. After a while I have a list with meals, and I know what we need to buy at the store. It's oddly satisfying, knowing I can do this.

"Okay, I'm ready." I announce. "Do you want to check it before I leave?"

"Sure," she says, taking the list from my hands. She reads it quietly. "You need to add soap, shampoo and detergent; we're almost out of that. And toilet paper, because we'll be out of that too in a few days."

_Oh. I never even thought about those things. How does she know we're almost out of those? _

I'm actually slightly impressed. How much does she keep in that head of hers?

_I guess she has to__ know, since I'm not that helpful in this household. And this is why I need to help her out more._

I dress the kids, put them in the car, and go to the store. When we get home Bella will probably be finished cleaning the house. Maybe we can have a coffee outside, on the terrace. The sun is shining, the air is getting warm, and the kids probably want to be outside in the afternoon.

_I'm helping her. __This will be a good day._

**x.x.x**

BPOV

I listen to the car leaving the driveway. It is nice to be home alone, so quiet and peaceful. I pour another cup of tea, adding some honey and stirring slowly with the tea spoon. They'll be gone for a couple of hours, so I have plenty of time to clean the house. I open the door to the terrace and let the fresh air inside. It is still chilly, but the sun is shining and the air will soon be warm enough for me to sit outside in only a T-shirt. Maybe we'll even have a coffee outside later, Edward and I. It would be nice just to sit next to each other for a while.

I finish my tea and walk to the bedroom, changing from my robe to clothes more appropriate for cleaning. I go with a shabby, old T-shirt, a hoodie, and my baggy jeans. These are clothes for boring house work. I look at myself in the mirror, liking what I see. I look totally androgynous and asexual.

_Good. __There is not a chance in hell he'll find me attractive in this._

I realize I cheat by doing this. I'm supposed to try being more affectionate towards Edward, but it is so hard. I've discovered I react differently depending on the way he looks at me when he touches me. A friendly pat on the shoulder is fine, as is a light, chaste touch on the cheek. A small peck is still too much, because I see the way he looks at me. There are hidden wants and desires even in that small gesture, and I can't handle that. I try to look as ordinary as possible, to keep him from watching me with lust in his eyes. I'll have to dress up later anyway, since I have to go to a party this evening, and I already worry about that. Those green, wanting eyes will watch me later anyway. No need to make them do it earlier than that.

I pick up the toys and clothes that are thrown at the floor, bring out the vacuum cleaner, and go to work. I don't mind doing this, really. I like that I see a quick result, my efforts are instantly paying off and the change is visible to the eye. There are other changes I need to make, inside of myself. They are a lot harder, and none of them are visible in that obvious way.

_I like easy and obvious.__ Hard and invisible changes suck._

I get interrupted by the phone, and as I answer I'm hoping it's not Edward calling to ask which kind of milk to buy or what soap to choose. I really hope he can make those decisions on his own.

"Hey Bella!" I hear my mom's voice, and I smile.

"Hi mom! What's up?" She's in the car, and I hear my dad mumbling in the background.

"Well, Charlie wants to watch the game tonight with Edward, so we figured you could bring the kids and come as well!" My mom sounds excited at the prospect of spending some time with her grandchildren.

"I guess Edward can come, and the kids, but I'm going out tonight." I explain to her.

"Nice, have fun! Charlie's planning a small barbeque and you know how these guys love that."

"Yeah, I'll tell him that. Bye mom!" I hear dad shout his goodbyes from a far, and I hang up.

_Sheesh, my parents spend__ more time with Edward than they do with me._

I know I should be happy that my parents get along so well with my husband, and in a way I am. But there are so many things that I used to do with them, that Edward now does instead. We played golf together, but since the kids were born it's mostly he who plays with them. I stay at home with the kids. I used to go with my parents to watch the local hockey team play. Edward does that now, and I stay at home with the kids. Neither golf nor hockey is that important to me, Edward enjoys it much more than I do. But spending time with my parents is important, and I kind of feel as if I've lost them to Edward. That makes me sad. I sigh, and finish my cleaning.

_This is why divorce is not a good idea. My parents would be devastated. They'd probably keep hanging out with him__ instead of me, and I'd be even lonelier._

Edward and the kids come home just when the coffee is ready, and I tell him about my parents' invitation. We put the groceries where they belong and go sit outside, drinking coffee and eating a small piece of dark chocolate. The kids play in the back yard, kicking a ball. Benji falls on his butt every time his feet miss the ball, and we laugh at him. The air is warm, but I keep my hoodie on because it feels safe. Edward takes my hand, which is okay, nice even. He's watching the kids, so if there is a hint of desire in his eyes I don't see it. But I'm guessing there isn't, considering my choice of clothes.

**x.x.x**

The sun is slowly passing over the sky, and it's time for me to hit the shower and get ready for the party. Edward cleans up the kids as I blow-dry my hair and put some make up on.

"Mommy, can I have some lip gloss?" Kate is standing next to me in the bathroom, looking at me with begging eyes.

"No, not now honey. I'm in a hurry; I have a bus to catch." I go over my face with a light touch of powder and add some mascara to my lashes.

_This will have to do. It's no big deal anyway, just the annual company party. It's not like my colleagues will notice, anyway._

I look at myself in the mirror, stroking my hands along my sides, smoothing my dress. I've chosen a purple, silky dress with small ivory coloured flowers. If the pattern were larger it would look like grandma's old curtains, but this way it just adds a lighter shade to the dress. The silky fabric clings to my body, showing off my curves and ending a few inches above my knees. Not that I have much curves nowadays, but the bra at least gives an illusion of it. My slim legs are covered with black satin stockings, and on my feet I have my black strap heels. I feel almost good about myself.

I walk into the bedroom, looking for my black purse and a jacket. Edward suddenly appears in the door, watching me as I rummage through my closet.

"Why don't you take the ivory jacket? It'll go nicely with the flowers on the dress." He says quietly.

"Right… I'll go with that. I don't have the time to look for something else anyway." I quickly brush past him, looking for my keys, cell and wallet.

"Don't wait up for me; I don't know how late I'll be. And I really have to go now, or I'll miss the bus." I tell him hurriedly.

"Bella, relax. I can give you a ride if you want, you don't have to take the bus. Since we're going to your parents it won't be much of a detour to drop you off."

I ponder his offer for a few seconds. That's actually nice of him, I hate running to the bus in high heels. Not that I do that very often, anyway. I don't even remember going out since the kids were born. The company I work for always throws a party this time of year, but I never attended it before tonight. I am excited and scared, because I've forgotten how to socialize with people I don't already know. I used to be an expert in talking casually to strangers and flirting with men. I don't know how to do that now. But then again, who would be interested in talking to me anyway, much less flirting?

I decide to accept his offer, and turn to Edward. He is watching me with a strange look on his face. His eyes rise to mine and I see the desire that burns in them.

_Oh no, I can't take this now. Please, don't look at me that way._

I feel uncomfortable, and put my arms around my body as to cover myself. His eyes roam my small frame, making me feel naked. I can see he's appreciative, I know he wants me, and I know I won't be able to give myself to him like that. I've given him my promise that I would try, but I can't, and the guilt consumes me. I don't know how to deal with these feelings, so I chose anger instead. I always do, and I hate myself for it.

"What? Quit staring at me!" I sneer at him.

_I h__ate myself._

His eyes quickly fall to the ground and he mumbles his apologies. As I walk to the kitchen "for a glass of water" which is really only a way to get away from him, I hear him add, quietly:

"I think you're beautiful. Is that not allowed anymore?"

I pretend not to hear that last comment, drink my water and get in the car. As he puts the kids in their seats I lean forward, resting my head against the dashboard.

_This is not a great beginning to a night out._

The fifteen minute ride into town is quiet. He drops me off, asking me to be careful. I shrug at him, not knowing how to answer his plea, and kiss the kids goodbye. I don't turn around as I walk towards the bar.

**x.x.x**

The place is crowded with people. Some of them I know well, some I'm acquainted with, but most of them I've never met before in my life. I know we work for the same company, but to be honest that doesn't make me feel more comfortable. I never used to be like this, the bars were like my backyard when I was younger. Now I just feel out of place.

I walk up to the bar, deciding that a drink might cure my insecurities. As I stand there, waiting for the bartender to acknowledge me, I suddenly feel someone standing close behind me. I feel fingers stroking my neck gently, moving slowly up to the nape, curling into my hair. I close my eyes at the sensation, and smile.

I know this touch. It is embedded in my skin, my nerves and the marrow of my bone. Only one person has ever touched me like this.

I let the fingers explore my neck, leaning my head forward to give him better access. The neck is my most sensitive area, this was common knowledge once. Many men have tried, including Edward, but only this man can touch me there and make me feel this way. My constantly working brain is shutting down, section by section. The sensations in my body are being redirected to my neck, leaving the rest of my skin numb and oblivious to any other touches. My legs are starting to feel weak, like my bones are turning into jelly.

_Jak__e. Oh god, how I've missed him._

Slowly I turn around, facing the person standing so close he's almost pressed into me. I let my eyes fall on his dark hair, his broad shoulders, and his smooth skin that reminds me of milk chocolate. I lean against him, saying nothing, letting his scent filling my nostrils and feeling his strong arms embrace me. I feel safe, and my eyes fill with tears. I'm sad and delighted at the same time.

"Well hello there, gorgeous. Do you come here often?" He teases me, smiling. I look at him, not able to speak. My heart aches and I've missed him so much. I need him, my Jake, my confidante, my soul mate.

"Hey Bells, are you alright?" I hear the concern in his voice. I shake my head, smile at him, and answer the only way I can.

"I am now, darling."

I throw my arms around him, feeling his hands stroking my back as he buries his nose into my hair. I haven't seen him in so many years, but my body still knows him so well. I can feel it relax instantly, wherever he puts his hands there is a peace I've not felt for a long time.

"I've missed you so much!" I sigh into his chest.


	9. Knights and Shining Armours

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just borrowed the names. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without written authorization. ©2010 SwedenSara. All rights reserved worldwide.**

**Wow, the response on the last chapter was unexpected! I never thought people would have such strong feelings about the story. This update is for you!**

**Thank you JillM12 and netracullen, my betas on this chapter! **

**

* * *

**

**Knights and Shining Armours**

**x.x.x**

JPOV

It is her. Bella is standing here, in this bar, at this company-held party. I had no idea we worked for the same firm and yet here she is, in my arms again. She fits right in, as she always did.

_My god, how long has it been?_

It must be almost ten years ago since we first met. I remember that day like it was merely a week ago. I look down at her, stroking my nose against the top of her head, smelling the sweet scent of her shampoo and the softness of her brown hair. She presses her face into my chest and sighs, telling me how much she has missed me.

"I've missed you too, sweetie." I whisper to her, stroking her back with my hands, remembering the curve of her back and the soft feel of her waist. It is exactly like it used to be. It feels as if I am travelling back in time, to younger and more carefree days.

She used to be such a witty and entertaining girl, she could make smart, sarcastic and funny remarks about everything. She had the sharpest tongue; it was hard to win an argument with her. I know that a lot of it was for show; she had some dark sides and issues, as did I, and maybe that's what drew us to each other. She never told anybody but me about this and she always had the carefree face on in public. She doesn't look carefree now, something has changed. She is wringing her hands constantly, she looks strained and unhappy. I frown, realizing that her answer to my question a few moments ago implied that she isn't doing okay. I quickly scan the last years in my mind, recalling what I know about her life as it is now.

_Married Cullen, who seemed to be a good guy. _

_Was in love with him, no doubt about that. _

_Had kids, I think… yes, a girl. _

_I __believe I heard something about a boy too, later._

Her life seems to be settled, but looking at her now I see that something is different. I need to find out what it is, because even if she's married to Edward, and I'm married to Leah, I still care for her deeply. We had a connection that nobody could ever understand, and holding her now I know that it is still there. I'm hers and she's mine.

I can never talk to Leah about this, about me and Bella. She is insanely jealous, and rightly so. I had quite the reputation when we met, and staying faithful to one woman has been the hardest challenge in my life so far. Having a healthy relationship and never cheating on my wife isn't only a challenge, it is also my dream. It always has been, ever since I was a young kid and realized that my father was unfaithful to my mother. I truly believed I was damaged, being my father's son, and that I would never be able to stay with one woman. I admire Leah for marrying me, and even though her jealousy is hard to deal with, I love her and I want to give her everything. But I can never tell her about Bella.

I make eye contact with the bartender, ordering us two beers because that's what we used to drink. I smile at her while we wait and she puts her small hand in mine. Her entire demeanour has suddenly changed, and I now see more of the girl I used to know. When our drinks have been served I drag her to the balcony outside, away from the loud music in the crowded bar. She giggles as I place her in front of me, standing behind her with my chest against her back. We silently look at the view, the people walking around, the docks far away, and the boats with their lanterns casting a shimmering light on the water. I put my arms around her and lean my chin against her head, making myself into a shell to protect her entire body.

"Bella, what's the problem?" I ask her softly. I take her hands, exploring her fingers and stroking her palms with my thumbs. That used to soothe her, and it still does.

"Well…" she hesitates for a few seconds before she continues.

"Edward and I, we're not doing so great anymore."

I hug her tightly.

"What, has he been bad to you? Because if he has, I made a promise a long time ago that involved his entrails and a tie." I make it sound like a joke, but I am serious. Not about the entrails part, of course, I'm a peaceful man after all. But I swear to whatever god there is, if he has hurt her, I will kick his ass in some way.

"No, Jake. He would never be bad. I, on the other hand…" Her voice trails off.

"You've been cheating on him, Bella?" I ask her, scolding.

"Jeez Jake, of course not!" She laughs bitterly. "Cheating would include sex, and that's not really my thing anymore." She shakes her head slightly.

_Wow. Never thought Bella would be the one having issues with sex._

I hear her cry, soft and quiet. I turn her around so she is facing me, and her face is so sad and pained.

"Jake, I'm such a bad wife to him." She whispers between her sobs. I want to stop her tears; I want her to feel happy again. As I desperately think of something to say to her, an image emerges from my memories. It is an image of Bella, the very first time I laid eyes on her.

Well, to be honest, I heard her before I saw her.

We were throwing a party on campus, and everybody who wanted to be someone always came to our parties. We always had a lot of hang-around girls, kind of like groupies, which was sort of weird since we were nothing like celebrities. Usually any of us could have any of them, and whenever we showed them some sort of interest they were giggling like little girls.

Mike, the large blond jock in our group, had spotted something he liked. He was shouting and whistling, using terribly lame pickup lines, telling the girl how much he liked her looks. The girls were squealing at his sudden interest in one of them, and then I suddenly heard a loud voice shouting back at Mike. "Oh yeah?" she said, "Look real hard honey, because that's all you'll ever do!" Mike's jaw dropped and the tips of his ears turned a bright shade of red. I snickered and turned to see this girl, because no one had ever turned Mike down, and certainly not in public.

There she was. When my eyes met Bella's it was like the world around us ceased to exist. Lights, sounds and people; everything turned into a foggy mist surrounding me and her. I knew right then that this girl was special. I had no place for anybody in my heart because I was the constant Casanova, doing every woman that came my way but never letting them in. But when I looked at Bella I realized that she was already there. She already had a place in my heart.

I shake my head as I return to present time, wiping her tears away.

"Hey Bells, do you remember when we first met? I watch her eyes lighten and feel relieved that I managed to cheer her up. Keeping her safe and happy used to be one of my primary needs. It even came above having sex with gorgeous girls. I can't even remember how many easy lays I turned down because of my need for Bella. And with her, it wasn't even about the sex. Well, it kind of was. But the sex was secondary.

**x.x.x**

BPOV

"Jake, how could I forget that?"

I can't help but smile at him. Of course I remember when we met. His friend, Mike, who apparently thought of himself as God's gift to women, actually believed I'd be smitten with his douche bag whistles and corny compliments. As if. I had way higher standards than that, and I made it quite clear to him and anybody else who cared to listen. Besides, I already had a boyfriend.

Then I saw Jake and I lost touch with reality. Something about him ignited a spark in me, which quickly grew into a vibrant flame. He was sexy as hell, of course, which created a bit of a problem for me. The problem had a name, Eric, and he was not only my boyfriend but also the sweetest guy ever. We'd been dating since we were in high school, and being with him was more about feeling familiar and safe than actual love. Jake and I created our own little universe that night, a universe that had no place for my boyfriend. When I got home in the morning I called Eric, and had the not so pleasing experience of telling a perfectly good man that I'd met someone else.

The guilt I felt for this would haunt me forever, but I also knew that there was nothing else I could do. Staying away from Jake was not an option. We were imprinted in each others minds from the moment we met, and the feelings we shared were hard to explain to others. Many of our friends saw only the cliché of a woman loving a man, who is using her for convenient sex when he feels like it. What they failed to realize was the complexity of our feelings. Yes, we shared a sexual relationship, and were never exclusive because of Jake's womanizing habits and inability to commit. The sexual relationship wasn't the primary part of who we were to each other, though. We shared a platonic love and a friendship that extended beyond the sex, and that stayed with us even after we decided to quit sleeping together. When I felt like I was falling apart, Jake was the shield that embraced me and kept me from shattering. He was one of my lovers, and I had a few during that time, but mostly he was my best friend.

I know that my encounter with Jake wasn't all that good for me. It was cheating on Eric that set me on the downward spiral that ended with me thinking of myself as a whore. That would never have happened if I hadn't met Jake, but not once have I ever wished him out of my life. The only thing I've wished for is that I had the brains to end things with Eric earlier.

Now, when I stand at the balcony thinking about that day, I still feel a knot of guilt in my stomach for cheating on Eric. I'm not proud of myself for doing that, and even though I later punished myself enough by being with that asshole James for so long, it's still eating me inside. The most important thing I learned from it is that I'll never do it again.

**x.x.x**

"We were quite the team, weren't we?" Jake is smiling, remembering the past we share with each other. Then his face turns serious, and I know what he's going to ask, because that's how we are. Words aren't always necessary between us.

"I don't know what's wrong, Jake. Or, I do know, but I don't know how to fix this." Below the balcony of the bar there is a small park with bushes, flowers and a few small trees. I take his hand and we make our way downstairs and out the door. Jake sits down on the grass, leaning against a tree, and I settle myself between his legs, my back against his chest. We used to sit like this at night at campus, in the park outside the dorms. We spent night after night this way, talking and cuddling.

"So, I take it there is trouble in paradise." Jake states. "Tell me in what way, and it'll feel better, I promise."

"Okay… I don't really know where to start. I don't recognize myself anymore. We've had some trouble; I've felt like I'm doing everything at home, and I've been really tired and angry. Edward has been angry as well, mostly I guess because I'm not that affectionate towards him anymore. I don't want him to look at me or touch me, it freaks me out and I get all tense and anxious. That makes him sad of course, and I feel guilty for being a crappy wife." I stop to breathe and think of how to continue.

"Have you talked to him about helping you at home?" Jake asks me. He's gently massaging my shoulders and it relaxes me.

"Yes I have, and he's doing much more now than before. He's doing great; actually, he's being very helpful and he's really trying hard. But my issues with touching are still there," I say with a sigh.

"Still there in what way? You seem to be okay with me touching you, so touching isn't the problem." He squeezes my upper arms.

"Yes, but it's different with you, Jake! When you touch me, you have no hidden agenda, there are no wants and desires in your touches. I don't feel obligated to touch you back, or to like your touches, or to sleep with you. With you, it's just a touch with no strings attached, and I feel no pressure. It's a safe touch." I lean my head backwards and tilt it so I can look at him.

"Oh. So it's not the actual touch that bothers you, it's the things you imagine he wants with the touches. You imagine he wants to have sex. Am I right?" He raises an inquisitive eyebrow at me.

Jake always has a way of making me understand myself. He takes what I try to say, adds what he senses that I think and feel but don't articulate that well, and moulds it together so it makes sense to me.

"Yeah, I guess so… It annoys me, though. He's my husband; I should want to have sex with him. That's how it's supposed to be."

Jake nods slowly. "When was the last time you wanted to have sex with him?"

"That's a long time ago. I'm not sure I remember. It probably was before Kate was born." I close my eyes, trying to recall.

"So, you wanted him, and then Kate was born. Is that when your issues with touching began? When she was born?" He keeps throwing me questions, helping me to sort things out.

"I think so. Maybe some time after… I was so frustrated all the time, because Kate was glued to my body day and night. I was never alone; I had her clinging to me constantly. She needed me, and that was fine, but when Edward came home and wanted to hug me or touch me it got too much. I was like, 'get your hands off me, I've been touched all day and my nerves need some fucking rest'. All I wanted was for him to take Kate so I could take a shower, pee on my own, or just sit down on the couch without someone being so goddamned close. That of course also meant that sex was out of the question. If I could, I would have requested separate bedrooms."

"So, no sex then. For how long?"

"Well, since then I guess."

He snickers at me, and I know he's about to make fun of me. He always snickers like that when he's planning a joke on my behalf, and I love it.

"And your little boy, how did you manage to make him? He's like the new Jesus, apparently. The Immaculate Conception, Bella style."

I elbow him in the side, hitting his ribs quite hard. "You're such a dork… Of course we had sex a few times. The first time we had sex after Kate was born was like 9 months after the birth. I didn't breastfeed anymore, so my boobs could actually be touched without turning into milk fountains. But the sex, it hurt so badly. I wasn't prepared for that, I thought I would be all healed and good to go. I was wrong; apparently things can be fragile for quite some time because of the hormonal changes. That wasn't an entirely pleasurable experience."

"I can see that… Do you have sex at all now?"

"No, we don't. When we made Benjamin, it was an attempt to make things better between us. I was angry all the time, and I took it out on Edward, pushing him away. He was angry all the time, and he took it out on Kate, yelling at her for nothing. That of course made me even angrier with him, and it went on like that. After Benji was born, it got a little better. Then we tried to have sex again, and let's just say it didn't go well."

"How do you feel now about it?"

I shake my head and sigh. "I don't allow him to get that close to me. When Edward touches me, my body reacts in the strangest way. I get anxious, my body goes rigid, and I have trouble breathing. My heart races and my muscles coil up, as if my body is preparing to flee from him. Well, that has actually happened several times. The fleeing, that is. So that's how I feel about sex. I want to flee from it."

"That sounds like you're having an anxiety attack, Bella. You're panicking! Girl, you have some serious issues here." He fingers my neck, and I instantly feel the urge to close my eyes and lean into his touch.

"I know. We joked about it, though, about me having Edwardophobia and needing exposure therapy… That's a step in the right direction, I think, being able to joke about it."

"Well… Do you still love him? Do you remember how you felt about him?" He is fingering a strand of my hair now, gently pulling it.

"I do. I didn't think so before, I thought this aversion to his touches was about me not loving him. But I do love him, I've just forgotten where I put those feelings and I need to find them. I know how it felt, the love for him: it was passion and safety at the same time. The safety is still there, but the passion part scares me now and it makes me sad. I used to be all about passion, as you might remember, and it feels like I've lost a huge part of myself because of that."

"Bells, passion always fades. When it does it is replaced with other feelings, and they are as important as passion. You can't have passion all the time, it'll consume you. Instead of passion you get friendship and fondness. It's like a fire: at first there are these huge flames, but when the fire slows down the flames disappear, and instead you have ember, a persisting glow. Sometimes the fire ignites again, but most of the time it just glows. Just take small steps, Bella. Try to push your limits, but don't overdo it. If it's hard for you when he touches you, maybe it's easier if you touch him? Then you'll be in charge, so to speak."

I laugh at him. Who knew he would be the relationship expert? "Jake, if I'd told you ten years ago that you'd be saying this you would have died laughing. You are right, though."

"Yeah, I've learned some stuff lately. Leah teaches me. My kids do, too." He smiles at me, and I turn to face him.

"She is a wise woman. Nobody ever believed it back in the day, but I knew you always dreamt of having a family, and I'm so happy it came true for you. Keep her, Jake."

I stand up and brush some grass off my dress. Talking to Jake has helped me to straighten things out for myself, and putting it into words makes it less frightening. He knows me, inside out. This is why I need him, and also why I miss him.

"I'm ready to leave. As always, you are my knight in shining armour. Will you do me the honour of accompanying me to a cab?"

He gets up, shakes his head and wiggles his finger at me.

"Oh no, Bella. I'm no knight. That would make you the damsel in distress and I know how you hate that. _You_, Bella, are the knight._ I_ am simply your shining armour.

He pulls me in a tight embrace and lifts me off the ground.

"And this shining armour would gladly get you your ride home."

* * *

**A/N Of course I wouldn't make her cheat on Edward... And Jake is a good guy, he wants to take care of her. Is Bella making a little more sense, now? She is slowly beginning to understand herself, and that is the key to change.**


	10. Small Steps and Gentle Touches

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just borrowed the names. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without written authorization. ©2010 SwedenSara. All rights reserved worldwide.**

**Thank you JillM12 and netracullen, my betas on this chapter! I apprechiate you so much. Thanks to Lulu M for advice on commas.**

* * *

_**Small Steps and Gentle Touches**_

I get home from the party, quickly wash my face, kiss my sleeping kids, undress and fall into the bed. Edward is sound asleep, snoring lightly. I nudge him to make him stop. That sound can keep me awake for hours. He shifts his position, and the snoring stops. I snuggle under the duvet, curling up into fetal position. I think about Jake; it comforts me, and I drift off into a dreamless sleep.

The following week is uneventful, both at work and at home. I receive an e-mail from Jake, telling me he is thinking of me and wishing me good luck with my issues. He offers to give me a few names if I ever decide to talk to a professional therapist. I reply, thanking him for being such a good friend and adding that I have to think about the therapist part. I like to figure things out on my own, and this is no exception.

When Friday arrives, Edward and I make a nice dinner, drink a glass of wine and take the kids for a walk afterwards. The sun hasn't set yet, and the air is still warm. The kids are running ahead, picking flowers, weird looking sticks and pretty stones, then running back and enthusiastically showing them to us. We laugh at the kids, talk about our week, and I tell him I met Jake at the party. Not once has Edward been jealous because of Jake, which is kind of astonishing when I think of it. I ask him about that, and he explains, telling me it is no big deal at all. Edward has never felt threatened by the relationship between Jake and I. He knows how important Jake has been to me, and hearing I had the opportunity to spend an entire night talking to Jake, makes him happy for me. I can't help but wonder if I would show Edward the same courtesy if he had a lady friend of importance. I'm not sure.

It's time for the kids to go to bed when we get back home; they are tired from the walk. Edward takes care of Benjamin, brushing his teeth and putting him to bed while I read a book to Kate. It's nice to put only one of the kids to bed, both Kate and I are calmer and happier, and saying good night is cosy and sweet. Putting them both to bed always makes me frustrated, because the tooth brush fight with Benji isn't a nice experience. I'm grateful that Edward did that tonight, and I decide it's my turn to put Benji to bed tomorrow.

When the kids are asleep, we spend some time watching TV together, sitting on different ends of the couch. We have the fortune of catching a show with Jeff Dunham and "Achmed, the Dead Terrorist" which is hilarious. Afterwards we watch it again on YouTube, and it keeps us laughing for quite some time.

**x.x.x**

It has been a good night, the best in a long time. The wine, the walk and the laughter is taking its toll, and I start to feel tired. I tell Edward good night, and go to bed. While I lie there in the darkness, I begin to feel a little lonely. Surprisingly enough, I actually want Edward's company in bed. This hasn't happened in a long time, and it makes me happy and nervous at the same time. Walking out there and asking him to join me should be easy, yet I stay in bed, my mind going back and forth. I want his company, but I'm afraid he'll misread my invitation and want sex, and that will lead to me turning him down again.

I sit up in bed, turn on the small lamp in the window, and put my feet on the floor.

_I have to do this_.

I rise and walk to the bedroom door. Before I reach the handle, I freeze and slowly turn around and head back to my bed.

_I can't._

I stand by the bed, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. My breathing has increased, and my heart is racing. This shouldn't be hard at all, I know that. I scold myself for being such a pansy. I have to try again.

I walk to the door again, and I'm able to open it this time. I peek out, watching Edward sitting by his computer. All it takes now is a few words, and the first part is done. As I open my mouth, nothing comes out. It's like I've lost my ability to speak. When I realize Edward has heard me open the door and is watching me, I hurry across the hallway to the bathroom, pretending I have to pee. I sit down on the toilet, waiting a minute or two before I rustle some paper, toss it in the bowl and flush it down.

_This is so stupid._

I walk back to the bedroom, sneaking a peek at Edward. He is hunched over the computer keyboard, playing one of his strategic PC games. I think it is called "Colonization." Apparently he likes it, since he plays it several times a week.

I need a pep talk to be able to do this. It is late, and I have no one to call. The only person who knows about this is Jake, but I can't call him at this hour. Leah would probably kill him if I called him at all, whatever the time. I lie back on my bed, trying to recall our last night together at the party. I close my eyes and will him to emerge in my memory, pretending to be back there in the garden with him. I pretend to feel his hands touching me, and his voice soothing me. Jake is talking to me again, in my mind.

"… _Just take small steps, Bella…"_

"… _maybe it's easier if you touch him…"_

I open my eyes instantly. I know what I have to do now. I rise again for the third time to try to open the bedroom door. My heart is beginning to pound, but I decide to ignore it.

_Third time's the charm._

I walk up to him, and pat him on his shoulder. He has his earphones in, and he jumps at my touch, not having heard me.

"What's wrong, Bella?" he asks me nervously.

"Uhm, nothing, I just…" my voice trails off.

_I can do this. I have to._

I clear my throat and continue. "I was just wondering if you were coming to bed soon." The words spill quickly out of my mouth, as if they would get stuck if I didn't rush them.

He looks at me with a strange expression, and I can almost see the wheels turning inside of his brain.

_He has no idea how to interpret this._

"I can come to bed right now, if you'd like me too. Should I?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, if you like… I mean, maybe you're busy…" I motion to the computer and the game he's been occupied with.

"Okay, just give me a few minutes, Bella. I'll be right there." He quickly turns off the PC and heads to the bathroom. I slide under the duvet as I hear him brush his teeth. A few minutes later, he appears in the doorway. After taking his clothes off, he sits on the bed, running his hand through his hair as he always does when he's nervous or agitated.

_Is he nervous? Well, that makes two of us._

He lies down in the bed, under the duvet, on his back as usual. He stares at the ceiling, apparently not sure what to do or say.

_So, Bella, what did you plan to do now? Just let him lie there, or what?_I hear Jake's voice in my mind, pushing me.

_No, I wasn't planning on that. I planned on… What__ did I plan, again? _

I have no idea. I haven't really thought this through. I didn't consider what I should do if I actually got him to bed.

_Maybe that's because you didn't really think you'd have the balls to do this? _Jake is back inside of my head again.

_Oh, shut up__, you._

I turn to lie on my side, facing Edward. He's waiting for me to speak, which makes sense since I'm the one who asked him to bed. He slowly turns his head and watches me patiently.

I brace myself and ask the question.

"Can I touch you?" I wait breathlessly for his answer.

He exhales loudly. I haven't even noticed he is holding his breath.

"Do you want to? Because if you do, that's okay," he says.

I take a deep breath, raise my hand and then stop. My breath is increasing again, and I feel a familiar ache in my chest as my abdominal muscles start to constrict.

_Something __is wrong. I feel uncomfortable. I need smaller steps._

I realize he's watching me; those vibrant green eyes are following my every move. I don't want him to watch for several reasons. I feel uncomfortable, and I don't want him to watch if this doesn't work out. I don't want him to see my struggle, but most of all, I don't want him to see me fail. I'm still not sure if I can do this.

I close my eyes and will myself to speak.

"Can you close your eyes? I just want to try one thing."

He abides, and just lies there. He's got one arm under his head; the other arm, the one closest to me, is casually lying alongside of his body. The rest of his body is covered with the duvet, and I move to slide it off of him. I bring it down to the brim of his underwear, stopping there.

_Small steps, Bella. Small steps._

I close my eyes to gain courage.

"Just… don't move. Lay very still," I whisper while I sit up, crossing my legs underneath me.

I open my eyes and let them fall on my husbands face, as if I'm seeing it for the first time. I look at his closed eyes, at his long dark lashes. I look at his nose; it has a small bump on it. It reminds me of the nose of some Greek statue.

His cheeks have light stubble on it, and I realize he hasn't shaved in a couple of days. I let my eyes follow his jaw line. It is strong and manly, and I suddenly have the urge to touch. I lean forward and touch him lightly, tracing his jaw with my fingertips. His scruff is tickling the back of my hand as I stroke his cheek.

I sit back again, watching him. I've avoided looking at him for so long, that I've forgotten what he looks like naked. I scoot closer to him; my knees are almost touching his arm. I run my hands along his throat, over his Adams apple, down to the small void where his collarbones meet. My thumb fits right in there. I've never noticed that before. I slide my fingers along his jugular vein and continue down to his chest. I let my hand rest above his heart, close my eyes and concentrate on what I feel.

I feel his heart beating; its pace is increasing slightly. His skin feels soft and warm, and my hand recognizes the sensation from caressing the kids. It's the feeling of touching another human being. I let my hand wander further down, my eyes still closed. His chest hair tickles me softly inside of my palm, and I feel his nipple harden as I stroke his chest. This reaction startles me, and I quickly take my hand off him.

I open my eyes, but the response of his body seems to be involuntary since I see no other sign of desire in his body. I close my eyes again and let my hands explore him further: his shoulders, his upper arm, the soft hair on his lower arm. My fingers trace his fingers, and I remember the feeling of holding his hands.

I lie down on my side, my elbow on the pillow and my head in my hand. The other hand is finding its way back to his body, resting for a while on his chest. I concentrate again on the feeling of his skin. He is always warmer than me, and I let the warmth spread from his skin, through my hand and my arm, to my heart. I skim over his chest, stroking my hand down to his stomach. He's got some hair there as well, and I follow the happy trail of soft, golden tiny curls leading south, down to…

I abruptly stop.

He turns his head, and watches me softly.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper with tears in my eyes. My hand is hovering in the air above his pubic bone.

"Oh, honey, don't be. I'm not," he whispers back.

"You're not?" I watch him incredulously. I stopped touching him just when I was about to reach his sex. He surely must be disappointed in me.

He raises his hand and touches mine. "No Bella, you've made me very happy."

* * *

_**A/N Watch Jeff Dunham and "Achmed, the Dead Terrorist" here: http://www (dot) youtube (dot) com/watch?v=1uwOL4rB-go**_


	11. Towels and Guilty Pleasures

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just borrowed the names. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without written authorization. ©2010 SwedenSara. All rights reserved worldwide.**

**Thank you JillM12 and netracullen, my betas on this chapter! **

* * *

_**Towels and Guilty Pleasures**_

**x.x.x**

EPOV

_She touched me._

_She _touched_ me._

_She touched me._

_Now I'm horny._

I lie in bed, hearing her breathing evenly next to me. She is asleep, and I'm not sleepy at all. She touched me, she finally touched me, and now I'm horny. I'm so thankful I was able to hide it from her while she was awake, because I sincerely believe that she would have freaked out if she noticed the hard-on I was hiding under that duvet. It's a good thing she stopped before she got there.

I think about the look on her face when she realized she had withdrawn her hand just before reaching the hem of my underwear, and I feel awful. She actually believed I would be disappointed that she couldn't go further than that. Well, I felt a small amount of disappointment, I can't deny that. But to be honest, I didn't care. I was just so thrilled that she actually touched me.

I've craved for her touch for so long. I close my eyes and think about her small, gentle hands. I recall the feeling of those hands stroking my face, my arms, my chest and my abdomen. I feel the soft coolness of her fingers, and remember how her palm stilled above my beating heart. She really felt me. She never says that she loves me anymore, but I felt it in that touch, and that is all I need to know.

I realize that this must have been hard for her, but she got over it and she touched me. I know about her issues with touching, about the panic attacks she's been having when I get too close. She's working so hard to allow me near her, and some things are working better than others. One thing I do know is that she can't handle my desire. That is still too difficult for her, which is why I'm relieved she never discovered my hard-on. Now I know one more thing. Touching works better when she is in charge; when she does the touching, not me.

_I can deal with that. Being touched is not bad… _

_Maybe, in a while, she will be able to touch me further down…_

Before I can stop myself, I imagine her hands stroking the length of me, running lightly up and down my hard cock. I feel myself twitch, and groan as I imagine her fingers sliding over the head, glistening with…

_Oh fuck, stop it Cullen, control yourself!_

I cover my face with my pillow, trying to muffle the moans that are escaping my mouth.

_Great, now I'm even harder. I have to take care of __this hard-on, I can't sleep with this. If I do, I'll wake up with the blue-balls from hell._

I quietly sneak out of bed, and pad out into the hallway. I get a towel from the bathroom, and head for the computer in the living room. I fire it up and sit down, wincing as the back of my bare thighs come into contact with the cold chair. I tap my fingers impatiently on the table, because this always seems to take too long. I want to be back in the warm bed, listening to Bella's breathing. Instead, I'm about to soil a towel looking at naked women.

I feel like such an asshole. What kind of husband does this? My wife is apparently dealing with some issues, probably related to sex, and instead of supporting her I sneak out of our marital bed to watch porn and jerk off.

_I would die if she knew._

The screen is waking up. I see the familiar window icon emerging, and I log into my account. I've hidden my porn stash way deep in the root directory, in a folder she'll probably never find. I begin browsing the pictures, looking for a particular girl. I have several pictures of her, and I like this girl because she reminds me of how Bella was when we first met.

_I have to rearrange these pictures so it'l__l be easier to find what I want._

I settle for one black and white picture. The girl is wearing a school outfit with a short skirt and stockings. She's standing with one foot on a large stone, spreading her legs, and showing her bare pussy to the camera.

_God, that is such a__ cliché. The fact that this turns me on is border-line embarrassing._

I lean back and try to relax. I stroke myself slowly, imagining Bella's soft, cool hand is doing the job, instead of my own warm and slightly rough one. I feel myself harden again, and I change the picture to a new one, with the same girl. I continue touching myself, sliding my fingers around my head, pressing lightly underneath it before dragging my hand down to cup my balls.

_This isn't doing it for me tonight._

I need sharper ammunition, and I know just where to get it. I change folders and open up the first picture. This is the best folder of them all. This is my hidden desires in pictures, my secret wants on display. These are the things I always wanted to do with Bella, but could never tell her. With her issues now, it would probably scare her out of having sex for a long time.

I groan as I browse through the pictures. There, this one… A dark haired woman is on her back, bound to a bed, legs and arms spread wide. Here eyes are covered with a silky black blindfold, her mouth and pussy are open, inviting, wanting and waiting.

_God, if I could __watch Bella like this. _

_Waiting for me, trusting me with her body…_

_She would be so beautiful._

I feel my cock twitch in my hands and my balls tighten, and change to another picture, pumping my hand harder and faster. I look at a woman lying face down on a bed. A pillow beneath her hips is lifting her ass up. Her legs are spread, her knees are bent, and her feet are up in the air. Her hands are on the bed, close to her breasts, as if she is about to do a push-up. Her upper arms are tied together, keeping her elbows apart with a space exactly as broad as her back. Her feet are above her ass, and her ankles are tied to the wrists of her hands, making it impossible for her to lower her feet.

I close my eyes and envision Bella in front of me, lying like that, tied up with her pussy bare and open, waiting for me to touch her, caress her. I imagine myself sitting beside her, caressing her back, slowly massaging the cheeks of her small, perfect ass. I hear her moan in my head as I see myself dipping my fingers into her, pressing rhythmically on that sweet spot inside, making her come again and again and again…

_So pretty…_

_Fuuuuuck_

I feel my balls tighten as I'm about to come, and I take the towel to catch the juices I spill while watching other women than my wife.

I don't even look at the screen as I rise and turn the computer off. I toss the towel in the laundry basket, making a mental note to do the laundry myself tomorrow, so she won't have to pick up my used, filthy piece of masturbatory evidence, which by then will be starchy due to the dried semen.

I'm angry and disgusted at myself for doing this again. I feel guilty, and I don't want to watch those porn stash women. I want to watch Bella, but I can't. I feel like I'm cheating on her, in some twisted way. I mean, I think about her when I do it, it's not like I want any of those women instead. They are merely a substitute for the real thing, and something to get my imagination started.

As I head back to our bedroom, I try not to think about my nightly wank. I pause briefly before I open the door, wanting to leave the horny part of me outside of our bedroom.

I slide quietly back into bed, being cautious so I don't wake her up. I lie awake for a while, thinking, watching her sleep. She has been so distant for so long, and I've felt cut out of her life. Sometimes I've felt like an extra in a movie. It was as she was living in a bubble some days, detached from life. I was so sure that she didn't want me anymore; I had even looked into the legal aspects of a divorce, just in case she would want one. I thought it was the end of our marriage, that night when she ran away from me and hid in the bathroom. Thank god it wasn't. Maybe someday I'll be able to take the horny part with me to bed, and give that to Bella again. She did touch me tonight, after all. There is still hope.

I drift off into a light sleep, filled with pictures of a naked Bella, silk ropes and blindfolds.

**x.x.x**

BPOV

_I touched him tonight. _

_I felt him, really felt him, and it was nice._

_God,__ I've missed that._

_I'm proud of myself._

Before we fall asleep, we lie together, silently watching each other. We say nothing, because there is no need to. He's got a serene smile on his face, and I feel blissful but confused. Touching him awoke feelings that have been forgotten for a long time, and it caught me by surprise. My fingers are still tingling from touching him; it feels like electric currents are running up and down my fingertips. The tension tonight has tired me out, and my eyelids are getting heavy. As I slowly doze off to sleep, his eyes are the last thing I see.

I wake up in the middle of the night, feeling the bed move slightly, and hearing Edward quietly leave the bedroom. He does this sometimes when he thinks I'm asleep. What he fails to realize is how lightly I sleep, and how easily I wake up. I have also developed that excellent night hearing that seems to come with motherhood. I guess that is the acoustic equivalence of night vision. On rare occasions I have pretended to stir in our bed, doing an "almost waking up"-impression, and that always makes him lie down again.

I know what he's up to, and I listen to his footsteps as they head for the bathroom. I hear him open a drawer and rustle with some fabric, which most likely is a towel or something that I'll find in the laundry basket tomorrow. Then I hear him pad to the living room, and I recognize the buzzing of the computer as he fires it up. I listen to the sound of the chair being pulled out, and hear a low gasp as he sits down. I'm guessing the chair is cold, and it makes me snicker a bit.

_He__ apparently needs to cool down…_

I hear a low tapping sound I don't recognize; I don't usually hear that sound during nights like these. As it stops, it is replaced by the clicking sound of the mouse.

I wait, without breathing, for the sound I know is coming. There it is, the quiet sound of skin stroking skin at a slow pace. I hear the chair creak as he shifts his position, and then I hear the clicking of the mouse again. I'm guessing he's not happy with whoever he's watching. The new one seems to be doing the trick, and I can hear the stroking sound going faster, adding a low slapping noise. His breathing increases and hitches. The sound of him exhaling soon blends in with the rustle of fabric.

_So, I guess he's done._

I listen to him padding back to our room, and I reposition myself as I was when he left, slowing my breathing so he won't notice I'm awake. He falls asleep after a while, but seems restless. I lie awake for a long time, pondering his nightly escapades by the computer.

I'm not sure what to think about it. A part of me is sad, and a little jealous. I think I'm not that nice to look at anymore, with my empty boobs and all. I know it is irrational, since I feel so uncomfortable when he watches me with desire in his eyes, but it still hurts that he looks at other women. I know how they probably look: big breasts filled with silicone, sweet faces, no cellulite, firm abdomen, tanned skin, sexy underwear, or more likely, butt-naked. I don't look like those women at all, and compared to them I'm a failure. Plus, I don't do sex anymore. Those women do, apparently.

The other part of me, the not so jealous part, feels almost relieved that he chose to leave the room to jerk off, instead of bothering me. If he had turned his interest to me, I probably would have had a complete break-down. I can barely handle him kissing me on the cheek, and just a few hours ago I freaked out when I realized my hand was dangerously close to touching his cock. So, he wanting to have sex with me, instead of dating the porn stash and "Miss Manuela," would have been a bad idea.

I decide that I'm thankful, and that it was thoughtful of him to take the matter into his own hands, so to speak. I wish I could be the one to help him with this, though. It was probably my touching that made him horny anyway, so it's my fault that he had to please himself on a cold chair in the living room. If I was a better wife I would have done that for him, in the warm and cosy bed, with my hands and mouth. But I'm not, I'm a bad wife, and apparently also a cock tease.

I'm displeased with myself and my inability to be a sexual being. Sex never used to be an issue; I used to love it, maybe too much at times. I never said no to sex. Well, of course I did if the guy didn't do it for me, and I had my standards, but when I found someone I liked I always went for it. Being like this, as I am now, it isn't me. I don't recognize myself, and it freaks me out.

_I started out good, w__ith the touching._

_But still, in some ways, I feel like I've failed._

I feel tears form in the corner of my eyes.

_Oh no you don't!_ I hear Jake's voice in my head, scolding me.

_You are not allowed to feel like a failure now. Small steps, remember?_ Imaginary Jake points his finger at me, narrowing his eyes.

I'm so glad I was born with such a vivid imagination. I smile at my inner Jake, wipe away the tears, and fall asleep.

* * *

_**A/N The inspiration for Edward's third picture is the teaser for chapter 18 of Tara Sue Me's "The Training". You can find the picture on her story blog, http://tarasueme (dot) blogspot (dot) com/ . Don't go there if you are under the age of 18!**_


	12. Reassurance and Research

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just borrowed the names. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without written authorization. ©2010 SwedenSara. All rights reserved worldwide.**

**Thank you JillM12 and netracullen, my betas on this chapter! **

* * *

_**Reassurance and Research**_

I wake up in the morning, slightly disoriented and a bit heavy-headed. Lying awake at night usually does that to me, and I rub my eyes before I curl up on my side, enjoying the warmth under the thick duvet. As I watch the alarm clock, I realize I've slept longer than usual – the kids tend to wake up between seven or eight a.m., and most of the time I'm the one who gets up and makes them breakfast. This morning I have heard nothing from the kids, which is odd since it is nine thirty already. I yawn and stretch in bed, feel my limbs slowly waking up and starting to function. I wiggle my feet and sigh.

_What a night__._

I smile when I think about what I accomplished last night. I was able to touch him, and I enjoyed it. Looking at my hands in wonder, I recall the feeling of his soft skin and tickly chest hair. My brows crease when I remember how it all ended, with me jerking my hands off him close to his lower regions. He seemed genuinely happy though, and even if my actions forced him to have an encounter with his right hand during the night, I actually think he enjoyed it. I sigh, stroke my hands over my body, and feel the smooth skin on my abdomen and the softness of my breasts.

_This is what it would feel like if Edward's hands __were touching me._

Closing my eyes I focus on the feeling, trying to forget the fact that the hands touching me are my own, and instead I imagine they are his. I feel my nipples react to the touch, and slowly rub my thumb over the stiffened, pebbled flesh. A warm pulsating sensation is spreading between my legs, and I groan as I move my hands further down, my fingers sliding between my wet folds.

_He could be doing this._

A low thud somewhere in the house interrupts me, and I reluctantly stop touching myself, listening carefully. I hear the kids playing in the living room, running around and laughing, when Edward suddenly hushes at them.

"Kids, be quiet! Mom is sleeping, she's tired and she needs to rest."

I can barely hear him; he's talking quietly so he won't disturb me. The kids disappear into Benji's room, and I hear Edward hovering outside our bedroom door for a few seconds before he heads out to the kitchen. I can't help but wonder if he heard me groan as I touched myself. I imagine him standing outside the door, leaning his head against it and listening to me moaning. I smile, slightly embarrassed by myself, and listen to Edward rustling around in the kitchen. I hear the sound of the electric kettle being filled with water, and the fridge being opened. I snuggle in our bed, relishing the peaceful silence in the bedroom. My breathing is slowing down, and as I'm drifting off, the phone rings, startling me. My heart is pounding as Edward is hurrying to answer, and I can tell by his voice that the call is for me.

_It sounds like…__ he's talking to…_

He's using his annoyingly polite and agreeable voice, which means it's not my parents or a friend of mine. This must be my grandmother, she's the only one he talks to like this. I haven't talked to her in along time, and I feel guilt wash over me. She lives alone, far from us, and I should call her more often. I decide it's time to get up, I can't very well pretend to sleep anymore after the phone has been ringing.

Edward is making breakfast, putting a pot of tea, honey, milk, butter, marmalade and cheese on the table. The toaster is on, and I can smell the bread turning golden brown. A ray of sunlight falls through the window across the room, making the small grains of dust that are dancing and floating weightlessly in the air visible. He looks up, and his eyes brighten when he sees me.

"Good morning. Did you sleep well? I hope the kids didn't wake you up." He busies himself with bringing cups, spoons and knifes while talking.

"No, they didn't. But the phone call did, who was it?" I yawn again, incredibly thankful that he let me sleep in this morning.

"It was your grandmother, I told her you were asleep and that you'd call her back after breakfast."

I smile at him and nod in appreciation. We get the kids ready for breakfast and sit down, chatting and reading the paper while we eat. When the kids have left the table he clears his throat, suddenly sounding uncertain.

"So… about last night? I just wanted to… you know, say thank you." He quiets for a while before he continues.

"I really appreciated it."

"You did?" I smile at him, feelings of happiness and victory rushing through my veins like a drug, increasing my heartbeat and making my hands tremble.

_He liked it! I made him happy!_

"Yeah… I'm thinking… if you didn't think it was, like, horrifying or something, then maybe we could do it again sometime?" He blushes as he speaks, and I can't help but smile wider.

"No, it wasn't horrifying. Actually, I thought it was nice. I… I've missed it. Also, I kind of had forgotten what it felt like to touch you, and how you look, you know, naked..." suddenly I'm embarrassed, and we are both blushing like teenagers.

_How silly. Two grown-ups, acting like we've never seen a naked body before_.

I reach my still trembling hand across the table and he takes it. We return to reading our papers, holding hands, and still blushing slightly. I feel connected somehow, holding his hand. It is a different and unfamiliar feeling. For so long, I've felt isolated and detached from reality, like there has been an invisible bubble around me. Touching Edward like this gets me in touch with the surrounding world again, and it is scary and freeing at the same time. In some ways I miss my bubble, it is safe. I'm not sure if I know how to handle the world without it.

**x.x.x**

When breakfast is finished and the dishes have been taken care of, Edward takes the kids outside to give me an opportunity to talk to my grandmother without being interrupted. I call her from the bedroom, close the door and creep up in the bed, leaning against the pillows. She answers, and her voice brings me back to childhood and happy times, Christmas trees and candied apples. My eyes water and I sigh deeply.

"Are you okay, sweetie?" I hear the concern in her voice, and since I can't hide anything from granny, I spill it. Everything. I tell her about how bad things have been for such a long time, how I've felt like I've got the responsibilities for everything at home, about having to be all these women and never being able to fully relax, about the pressure, the anger, the sadness, the feeling of being disconnected, and about my issues with touching and sex. Yes, I tell my grandmother about that, too. She listens to everything I say, asking occasional questions.

When I'm finished she is quiet for some time, and I start to wonder if she's fallen asleep listening to my ranting.

"Granny?" I ask. "Are you still there?"

"I'm sorry, darling, of course I am. I was just thinking. How come you've never told me this before?"

"Because I'm ashamed! I feel like there is something wrong with me, I feel guilty for not being a good wife."

She pauses again and I'm waiting, patiently.

"You know how I've been a nurse for my entire life, even after I was supposed to be retired?"

"Um, yeah, why?"

"Well, I worked at the maternity ward for several years, and when I was supposed to retire I volunteered for a few years at a free clinic. You remember that, right? I was mostly dealing with postnatal care and taking care of mothers. I saw a lot of women describing things that were quite similar to what you are talking about."

I'm quiet, not really knowing what to say. Are there others like me?

"Bella, it sounds a lot like you are suffering from some kind of depression. There is this thing called postpartum depression, it is not that unusual for women to feel depressed after giving birth. Maybe it could be something like that? It sounds like you been dealing with this since after Kate was born, and I'm guessing it has gotten worse because you haven't been getting any help. You haven't told your mother about this, either?"

"No, of course not! She and dad, they… well, they love Edward. And I'm not sure how they would react… This could be an actual medical condition?"

"Yes Bella, it could. All the things you have described to me: feeling sad, angry, and anxious all the time, feelings of being not good enough, the guilt, feeling worthless… I've seen it before, you know. You need to talk to Renee about this; of course they will support you. And yes, they love Edward, but they love you more."

She pauses to think again. I'm quiet, waiting for more information.

"Anyway, my point is that you can get help if it actually is depression. There is therapy, or medication if therapy doesn't help. There are also a lot of things you can do to help yourself, if you have the support of your family. It sounds to me like you're well on your way with those things. You've talked to Edward about helping you at home, you've expressed some your feelings, and you are trying to make some changes for yourself. Most of all, you need some rest from everything. You don't need to be superwoman."

I don't know how to feel about this. I'm not depressed, right? Others get depressed, I don't. This doesn't fit with the picture I have of myself, of who I am.

_What picture? Do I even know who I am anymore?_

"So, postpartum depression, huh? I'm going to Google this."

"You're gonna what?"

"I need to learn more, use the internet, do a little research, you know? Never mind, just…. Thank you. Really."

"Bella, good luck, and kiss the kids for me. Kiss Edward, too, or at least tell him I told you to. I love you, you know."

"I love you too. I miss you.

We say our goodbyes, and I sit in my bed for a while before I get up and go to the computer. I open up Google, type "postpartum depression" and start to read. It blows my mind. It is all there, all the things I've experienced these last years. One of the passages makes my breath hitch:

"Role strain - Women often suffer from role strain over conflicting and overwhelming responsibilities in their life. The more roles a woman is expected to play (mother, wife, working woman), the more vulnerable she is to role strain and subsequent stress and depression. Depression is more common in women who receive little help with housework and child care."

It's like I'm reading about me. It puts into words so many things I've been thinking and feeling. Page after page describes the symptoms I know so well, and when I find a site with the captions "What is postpartum depression" and "Who gets postpartum depression" it becomes evident. I _am_ reading about me.

I see myself in the "What's":

- Feeling sad or down often. _Yeah, all the time. It's like my way of being nowadays._

- Feeling restless, irritable or anxious. _Yup, that too. Lashing out at Benji for wanting to help me with the laundry, what the hell was that, of not irritable? And I think I do that a lot…. _

- Loss of interest or pleasure in life. _I don't care much about anything now. I just… exist._

- Feeling hopeless, worthless or guilty. _Well… yeah. Since I consider myself the worst wife ever, and feel constantly guilty for not being good enough, this pretty much applies._

I see myself in the "Who's":

- Depression not related to pregnancy. _I think my past experience with James and my really irrational reasons to stick with him for so long might fit in here. Back then I never thought about it as being depressed, but maybe it was?_

- Difficult or stressful marriage or relationship. I _wonder what came first, though? Did my marriage become stressful because of me being depressed, or was it the other way around? Or has it evolved simultaneously?_

- Few family members or friends to talk to and depend on. _Sadly, yes… I don't talk to my parents too much about this stuff. It's always hunky dory with them. And my friends… Well, there aren't that many and none of them really know me anyway. Only Jake does that, apart from Edward, of course._

**x.x.x**

I read for an hour, until Edward and the kids come back in, asking for lunch. I'm absentminded, incoherent and Edward is probably wondering what the hell has happened to me. I spend the rest of the day thinking about what I've discovered. I need to figure out what to do about this, what to tell Edward. I'm not sure how I feel, I'm equally relieved that there are others like me and that there is help, as I'm ashamed that I haven't been able to deal with it on my own. Parts of me think that this is bullshit, that I'm not depressed at all, and that I'm just being a whiney bitch. I feel stupid, confused and I'm worried what Edward might think. I shake my head and decide to just get it over with. I reopen the pages I've read on postpartum depression, call out to Edward, and tell him to sit down.

He listens quietly as I tell him what I've found out, and he spends the rest of the evening reading about depression. We don't talk much; I've got a lot on my mind, and apparently, so does he. It worries me that I can't read him at all. I have no idea what he is thinking, and I'm getting nervous. Will he think I'm crazy? Will he leave me when he realizes how fucked up I am, or will he see this as an opportunity to get some help?

Edward is still by the computer as I go to bed, and I toss and turn for a long time before I finally fall asleep. I wake up late at night when Edward joins me in bed.

"Bella? Are you awake?" he whispers.

"Yes" I answer quietly. I'm lying on my side, my back to him, as usual.

"Can I hold you?"

I hesitate, unsure of how my body will react to him this time. I have panicked and left the bed so many times, and I don't want to do that now. I focus on my body, trying to remember the feelings from this morning. Imagining his hand on my body was nice, and I need to believe that it can be nice in real life as well. I reach behind my back, grabbing his hand. Gently, I pull him towards me, and he scoots closer, nuzzling my hair and sneaking his arm around my waist.

He is lying behind me, holding me close, and we fall asleep.

* * *

_**A/N Bella's websearch on Postpartum Depression led her to these pages. Read them if you recognize yourself, or someone you know, in my Bella! Just remember to replace the (dot) with a dot and to remove all the spaces. FFn don't like links in the chapters...**_

http:// helpguide (dot) org/ mental/ depression_women (dot) htm

http:// familydoctor (dot) org/ online/ famdocen/ home/ women/ pregnancy/ ppd/ general/ 379 (dot) html# ArticleParsysMiddleColumn0002


	13. Absence and Abstinence

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just borrowed the names. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without written authorization. ©2010 SwedenSara. All rights reserved worldwide. Oh, and Kassiah owns OJward. This is for her...**

**Thank you JillM12, Remylebeauishot and netracullen, my betas on this chapter! **

* * *

_**Absence and Abstinence**_

I wake up early the next morning, feeling well-rested after yesterday's lie-in and a night's deep, dreamless sleep. I quietly slip out of bed, put on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, and sneak out of the bedroom. I look at the clock in the kitchen, it's a few minutes past seven, and the kids are still asleep. I smile and shake my head.

_That is just my luck. I bet they don't wake up until nine today, __simply because I got up early._

It still is too early for breakfast, but I feel a bit chilly and I need something warm to drink. I make myself some Earl Grey tea, add some honey, and go to the terrace door in the kitchen. I'm looking out at the terrace, the flower beds and the yard, holding the mug of tea to my chest. The morning sun makes the dew glisten in the grass, and some of my flowers have pearls of crystal clear water on their petals. I open the door and step out on the terrace, and then on the grass. I walk slowly across the lawn, noticing it is time to mow it again. I feel the wet grass tickle the soles of my bare feet, and the dew is wetting my toes.

_If Edward saw this he would scoff at me and tell me to put my shoes on__._

I giggle a little at the thought of my husband and his large but delicate feet. I'm always walking around in my garden barefooted in the summer; I have loved the feeling of the ground under my bare feet since I was a kid. Edward hates it, because his feet are more sensitive than mine, and he always steps on something prickly. My feet are hardened, and I don't care much about prickly things or small stones. I just keep walking, because I know the pain is momentary, and I learned during my tomboy kid years that pain subsides quickly if you ignore it. To me, physical pain is passing, a temporarily mishap not worthy of much noticing. Edward notices pain; he feels it much more vividly than I do.

I get rid of a few killer slugs before I head back inside. The morning sun is warm, but the air is still chilly. I curl up on the couch under a fleece blanket, rub the warmth back into my cold feet, and relax. The house is quiet, aside from an occasional snore from the kids rooms, and the ticking of the kitchen clock. I empty my head and drift off into a semi-conscious state, creating that relaxing inner space that Edward refers to as my "bubble". I lose track of time as I sit there, and suddenly I'm being jerked out of the bubble by Edward's voice.

_I didn't realize he was up. __Oh, and the kids are apparently awake as well. How long have I been here?_

"Hey, Bella? What would you feel about getting the kids out of here for a day, maybe over night? They can visit my parents and sleep at the summer house."

"Um, what?" I'm still slightly confused. I furrow my brows as I try to make my brain work properly again.

"I just thought it might be nice to be alone for a day, just chill, maybe catch a movie, have a glass of wine, talk a little and get a full night's sleep."

My mind is functioning again, and I think for a few seconds. I realize that it's actually a great idea. As much as I love the kids, I don't think Edward and I have been on our own since… I don't even remember. It must have been years. I nod in appreciation.

"Sure, sounds great! Do you think Esme and Carlisle will be at the house this weekend?"

"I guess so. I'll give them a call after breakfast. Have you eaten?"

"No, I haven't. I've just been sitting here for a while." I smile sheepishly, stand up, and follow him into the kitchen. As I make a pot of tea, he opens the fridge. I watch him standing there, in a ray of sunlight. He has a pair of grey sweatpants on, they hang low and loose, showing the brim of his underwear and the happy trail above. He has no tee on, and the cold air from the fridge gives him goose bumps and makes his nipples erect. He scratches his chest hair a few times and yawns. I see his eyes roaming the shelves in the fridge, and settling on a carton of orange juice. He brings it out, opens it, and tilts his head backwards. My eyes follow the carton as he raises it to his lips, and as he swallows gulp after gulp, I watch the outline of his jaw, his neck, his heaving chest, and his bobbing Adam's apple. When he is done he puts the juice down, sighs contently and turns to me. He has an orange juice moustache covering his upper lip, and I giggle.

"Um, Edward, you have something there." I tap my index finger on my upper lip. His tongue darts out, licking the juice off in one long stroke, before he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. My eyes are locked at his lips, and he raises an eyebrow and smirks at me.

"See something you like?" He drags his hands through his ruffled bed hair and leans against the counter.

I huff at him and turn away to hide the blush that is spreading across my cheeks.

Kate and Benji help us to make breakfast, and we eat. Edward finishes quickly, eager to call his parents about leaving the kids at their place for a weekend. He put his dishes on the kitchen counter and then leans in to kiss me on the cheek. I feel my body react to his closeness immediately, it's like a reflex, and my chest tightens. I close my eyes, take a deep breath through my nose, and try to focus on something else to divert myself from the sudden infringement of my personal space. _His scent._ He smells like warm skin with a vague hint of vanilla, a homely and secure scent that calms me down, and dissipates the uneasiness like a puff of smoke in a breeze. I feel his lips touching my cheeks lightly before he continues to the hallway in search of his cell phone.

_Wow, that worked __out quite well._

I just don't get myself. It seems like there is no rhyme or reason about how I react to Edward, no recipe for success. Some things trigger reflexes in my body like the bell did to Pavlov's dogs. Only I don't drool like they did, I cringe. I can't decipher what those triggers are, and how to avoid them. It's like a big tangle of strange irrational causes and effects. I don't like irrational, I'm a logical person, and I understand reason better than feelings. This is very far from reason, and very much about feelings.

_I need to __analyse this somehow, untangle the mess, so to speak._

The kids are outside playing, Benji is yelling with delight as Kate pushes him on the swing we bought last year. Listening absent-mindedly to the kids playing and Edward chatting on the phone, I pull my legs up underneath my body; grab an old envelope from yesterday's pile of mail, and a pencil, and start scrabbling down notes. My mind is going into analysis mode, wrestling with what happened a few minutes ago, turning it inside out, upside down, and looking at it from different angles, comparing it to previous incidents. Some kind of pattern is taking form in front of my eyes, but I can't see it clearly. I lean my head against the back of the couch, staring blindly across the room, thinking deeply. As Kate rushes by to give me a kiss before going to the bathroom, her hair creates a puff of air, and I feel her familiar scent. I breathe deeply through my nose, and it suddenly dawns on me. I look at my notes, tilt my head, and feel a smile slowly spread across my face.

_Is it possible? Did I really just understand something about this?_

I go over it again in my head.

_When__ I feel bad about Edward touching me, I almost hyperventilate. I breathe quickly, with shallow breaths through my mouth. This time I did the opposite, and breathed through my nose instead. That made my breaths slower, and I felt his scent. It seems like his scent is calming me, familiar as it is._

_Maybe this could help… I need to try this._

It is a small step, but I figure all things that can help are good things. It may not work every time, but now I have at least _something_. Something is definitely better than nothing.

"We don't have any plans for next weekend, do we?" Edward's voice startles me and abruptly shakes me out of my thoughts. I frown, trying to remember but not succeeding.

"Why don't you go check the calendar? I'm sure we've written it down if we did make plans. I don't recall any, though."

He hurries over to the kitchen, the phone still in his hand, and eyes the calendar.

"Nope," he says into the phone. "We're free next weekend. We'll bring the kids on Saturday, have lunch with you, and come back to get the kids on Sunday afternoon. How's that sounding?"

He listens to the answer, chuckles, and hang up with a "Bye, Mom!"

_So, I guess we are without kids for an entire __day and night next weekend. That is going to be so nice!_

I smile at Edward as he runs out in the yard, telling the kids about their sleepover at the grandparents' summerhouse next week. Kate squees with joy, and Benji starts running in circles, screaming "Calyle, Calyle, Calyle is crazy!" before faking a fall to the ground, rolling around laughing. Yeah, grandpa "Calyle" will have a handful with that one next weekend…

x.x.x

Monday, I think about sleeping an entire night, and not having to get up early in the morning to feed the kids.

Tuesday, I think about having dinner with Edward, maybe in a nice restaurant, without having to nag at the kids about finishing their meal and not bickering at the table. It will be nice to be able to have a full conversation without being interrupted.

Wednesday, I think about sitting in the sun having a cup of coffee in the afternoon, enjoying the silence, and not having one eye at the kids all the time.

Thursday, I think about going to bed on Saturday night, and start wondering what is expected of me. I feel oddly worried.

Friday, I think about how these twenty-four hours without kids are the perfect set up for sex, and I panic.

Suddenly, it seems like this entire thing means that he is expecting, or at least hoping for, me to sleep with him. The more I think about it, the more it makes sense. Getting the kids out of the house, suggesting a date with a nice dinner and a movie, some wine…

_Total sex set-up._

I feel like I'm forced into a trap. This is a set-up for failure. If he wants what I think he does, he is going to be disappointed again. And he is right of course; a night without kids should be a night of hot, steamy sex. That's what you're supposed to do on a kid-free night. It's like a rule, one of the ten commandments of parenting. It's right there, after "Thou shalt love your child" and "Thou shalt not give your child candy on a weekday": "Thou shalt have sexual intercourse on kid-free nights".

_I'm going to disappoint him again._

x.x.x

The ride to Esme and Carlisle is quiet. I'm obsessing over the prospect of having to turn him down later tonight, and Edward is probably worrying about me being silent. The kids are asleep in the back seat, and I stare out the window at the trees passing by. A light drizzle is covering the windshield, before disappearing with the rhythmical sweeps of the windshield wiper. It is foggy outside, and the moist air is making my hair frizzy. I try to smooth it, cursing inwardly. I always feel awkward around Edward's parents, not knowing how to act natural, and having frizzy hair isn't going to help.

Carlisle and Esme are wonderful people, but they are so different from my own parents. My parents are easy going, they don't care too much about appearances, and they don't mind having you visiting spontaneously on a weekday. They don't care if the house isn't tidy when you arrive, and they don't use the best china and the crystal glasses if they have family over for dinner. If you want a beer when you're there, you just grab one. It is all very relaxed, and you feel like you are at home. Their house is your house, and even Edward feels that way. Edward's parents are very much the opposite. They use their best china for dinner, even if it is only us, and they offer drinks before dinner and put the food on the plate for you. I feel like a guest when I'm at their place. I don't feel like family, and I'm uncomfortable with that. Edward and I have talked about this several times, and truth be told, even he feels more comfortable around my parents than his own.

As we get closer to the summerhouse, the fog disappears and the sky clears up. We make a turn off the main road to the smaller bumpy one that leads to the house. I notice it is full of puddles; it had obviously been raining here earlier. I smile and reach to the back seat to wake Kate and Benji up.

_The kids__ are going to love this. Thank God we brought rainwear and rubber boots. There is nothing like jumping in puddles when you are a kid._

As we park the car, Esme and Carlisle come out to greet us. The kids jump out of the car and run towards them with water splashing around their feet at every step. I take a deep breath, try to smooth my damp hair, plaster a smile on my face, and get out of the car. Lunch is almost ready when we arrive, and I offer to help but Esme tells me to sit down and just relax. I feel useless; I want to participate, to do my share, to earn the meal. Instead I just sit there and watch them run back and forth with plates, cutlery and pots, feeling silly and out of place. Edward wanders around, offers to help, but Esme waves him aside. "Go sit with your wife, dear. You are our guests today!" she says. Edward rolls his eyes, sits down next to me and mumbles, quiet, but still loud enough for me to hear: "They sure love to have guests… I'm their son, for crying out loud. Get off the high horses already!" He taps his feet impatiently, and I feel bad for him. It is one thing that I feel uncomfortable with my parents-in-law, but it is just plain sad that he sometimes feels the same about his own parents.

When lunch is finished we have coffee, and before I know it we kiss the kids goodbye and head back home. Edward is cheerful and happy, and I feel concerned and agitated. I haven't forgotten my worries about Edward's expectations, and even if I try I can't push them away entirely. The sun is breaking through, and I decide to do some yard work when we get home.

_There is nothing like __digging in the dirt to divert one's mind, and weeding the garden is one of my favourite diversions._

Most people dislike weeding the garden, but I enjoy it. I'm not very scrupulous about it, and sometimes I don't even bother to pull it up by the roots. I like weeding because it gives instant results, and because I get dirt under my fingernails. It makes me feel attached to life and to earth, it makes me feel alive. Oddly enough I even like the weeds, because I know it will come back in a few weeks, and I can't help but admire something so unyielding and persistent. It doesn't matter how much you try to get rid of it, it still comes back, thriving and flourishing. It lives through the drought, the frost, the wet, and adapts itself to the circumstances. I like that about weeds. Most people, if asked what flower they would want to be, choose a rose, a tulip, a lily, or an equally beautiful flower. I would choose a weed, a dandelion maybe, or burdock.

I leave both a dandelion and a burdock in the far away corner of the flower bed. I figure if I get rid of the dandelion before the seeds blow away, there is no harm done. Until then I can look at the bright yellow flower. I like the flowers on the burdock as well; the combination of purple and grey is adorable. I don't think that one will stay until it blooms, though. Edward hates the burdock. It is prickly.

I head into the shower, scrubbing my dirty fingers, and massaging my scalp with shampoo. I could stand in the shower for hours, if I only had enough hot water. My back is getting sore after bending over the weeds, and I know it is going to hurt later on.

When I get out of the bathroom, Edward is already dressed in a plain white v-necked tee, a green and blue checkered shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and dark blue jeans. I go through my closet and chose a pair of white linen pants with wide legs. They fit smugly on my ass though, and Edward murmurs in appreciation when I turn my back at him to put on a dark blue top. His murmurs are making me slightly uncomfortable, and I still can't get rid of the feeling of being forced into the kid-free sex-trap.

"What do you feel like eating?" Edward asks.

"Hmm… I think this is a steak night. Yeah, steak with beer." My stomach is growling, thinking of food has made me realize how hungry I am.

The restaurant is the sports bar kind, with screens showing some random football game, and team shirts hanging on the walls. The steak is wonderful though, and I feel the tender meat melt in my mouth. I swallow a few gulps of beer, and clear my throat. I'm getting more nervous by the second, and Edward is eyeing me suspiciously.

"Bella, is something wrong? You haven't said much today, and you seem a little skittish."

"I'm sorry, I just feel a little uncomfortable. It's no big deal."

"Well, it seems like you are more than just a little uncomfortable. I was hoping to give you a nice and relaxing evening, but it seems like my efforts are a waste of time." He is sounding a bit angry, and I instantly feel small in my seat. I don't like it when he sounds angry or agitated, I feel like I want to go away and hide. I feel my shoulders tense, and I start to apologize.

"No, it is nice and relaxing, I just… I'm worried about tonight."

"I don't understand. It's not like this is a date where we barely know each other. What could there possibly be to worry about?"

I feel so silly, and I answer him so quietly I'm almost whispering.

"I'm worried that you maybe are expecting us to have sex. You know, with no kids at home, and all."

He stares at me, incredulously.

"Do you think I did this for sex?"

"Um, no… yes, maybe. I mean, I've been worried that maybe that was what you wanted, and I don't know if I can do it, and then you will be disappointed in me again."

"Bella, guys don't always want to have sex. Why do you think that?"

I think for a few seconds before I answer. Bits and pieces of my past are flashing before me, the past that taught me that sex actually is what men want, and that sex is what I am supposed to give them. I shake it off, and try to explain without telling him those specific details.

"Well, you can't really hide the fact that you want sex. I see it every time you get close to me. Or rather, I get poked by that fact. It is hard, and it is situated in your groin. So yes, that makes me think you want sex." I lean towards him over the table, not wanting the other guests to hear too much of this.

"Oh… I get a hard-on, so what? That doesn't mean I need to have sex. If you don't want to, then I don't want to either."

"That is so not true!" I laugh at him. "Don't tell me you don't want it, because that is just a lie."

"Alright, I do, but you know, I survive without it. And just because I have a hard-on, it doesn't mean I always want to have sex. Sometimes little Eddie here reacts on his own. He doesn't care if I'm tired or don't feel 'in the mood', he gets hard anyway. Sometimes even without any reason, it's like a reflex. He is simply not reliable. You shouldn't trust him at all!" He smiles at me.

I smile back at him, putting the last piece of delicious meat in my mouth. I chew and swallow, and finish the beer.

"So, you don't have any expectations about tonight?"

"Actually, I do. I expect you to feel relaxed and safe, and to sleep well. That's all."

"Thanks…" I feel relieved.

"But if you really, really want sex, I won't turn you down."

_Asshole!_ I kick his leg under the table, and he chuckles.

We pay for the food and head back to the car. I feel my back hurting more now, and I rub my shoulders all the way home. I catch Edward throwing questioning glances at me a few times. I explain how I became a bit too absorbed in weeding the garden, which resulted in sore and tense shoulders and back. He laughs at me and offers to give me a massage when we get home. "A totally non-sexual one, of course."

_I need that massage._

The house is dark and quiet when we get home, and it feels odd not to have Kate and Benji around. I'm tired, and undress quickly after brushing my teeth. Throwing myself on the bed, I close my eyes and yawn. Edward joins me, and positions himself over my bottom, his legs on each side of me.

"Do you still want that massage?"

I hum at him, nodding slightly.

He puts his warm hands on the small of my back, and starts to massage, up and down, adding a little more pressure every time. I feel his hands and thumbs kneading my muscles, one by one, releasing the tension and leaving them soft but tender. My shoulders get special attention, and the knots I have there are slowly dissipating. I fall asleep with his hands stroking my back, and I don't even wake up when he puts the lights out and rolls over to his side of the bed.


	14. Dreams and Dark Memories

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just borrowed the names. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without written authorization. ©2010 SwedenSara. All rights reserved worldwide. **

**Thank you JillM12 and netracullen, my lovely betas! **

* * *

_**Dreams and Dark Memories**_

_I was standing in a bar, hearing the music pumping and people partying. The__ place was crowded and there were people all around me, but still they were strangely distant. I felt invisible in an uncomfortable way, nobody noticed me and it felt weird. My eyes scanned the place, and I recognized the bar at the campus where I used to hang in another life. A couple of familiar figures by the bar caught my attention and I slowly walked towards them. The crowd around me dispersed as I moved forward, and when I looked back, the space behind me was an empty void. I shook my head in disbelief, and turned to the two figures by the bar again. I kept walking, and people kept dissipating around me. I tried to place the familiar forms in my mind, but they had their backs to me and when I called to them they didn't seem to hear me. It was a girl and a boy, and they were obviously close. They spoke to each other with their heads close, and foreheads almost touching. He had his hand at the back of her neck, his fingers grazing the nape of her hair. As the bartender spoke to her she turned her head in my direction, and I froze. That familiar girl was me. I was watching myself. And "me" was at a bar, talking to Jake._

_I drew__ closer, and placed myself at the end of the bar. I was close enough to hear the conversation, but the sounds were subdued and somewhat distorted. I recognized the words and I could vaguely recall the night I was witnessing. I felt nauseous, because I knew that this evening ended like so many other evenings during that period in my life. _

_A blonde, short girl tried to get the bartenders attention, standing right behind Jake. I noticed his focus switch fr__om our conversation towards her. He moved aside and let her have his place at the bar. She giggled and flirted, and I watched the change in my facial expression as the realization hit. Jake wasn't going home with me tonight, the Casanova had found himself some fresh meat. I could see the joy in my face give way to sadness. I watched myself order and quickly down a couple of tequilas, my choice of drink when I felt blue, before I turned around and headed towards the dance floor. I noticed a resolute but destructive hint in my eyes as I saw myself pass by. The dance floor was my hunting ground, and I was on the prowl._

_I watched myself dance from a__far, feeling uncomfortable. I could see men gathering around me, getting nearer as I swayed to the music with my eyes closed and a smile on my lips. One of them crept closer, and I saw how he laid his hands on my hips, pushing his pelvis into me from behind. I almost expected myself to twirl around and slap him for rubbing himself against me, but that didn't happen. Instead I had to watch myself turn to the man, put my hands around his neck, and whisper words into his ears, as he grinned like a horny mongrel. I knew that his hard cock was pressed into my stomach, and I also knew that out there, on the dance floor, I was reeling in the feeling that I could do this to a man, that I could turn him on like this with the way I moved and the words I spoke. And I knew that deep down I was wishing I was dancing with Jake instead of this man._

_Watching me was like watching a train wreck of destructive sexual behaviour._

_Suddenly the scene changed, and I stood in the hallway of a small and ordinary apartment. I heard noises from the bedroom and I found myself reluctantly drawn towards them. I peeked around the corner and saw myself on all fours in the bed, the man behind me, pounding into me with ferocity. Although the angle was unfamiliar, the events that took place in front of me were not. I knew that his breath had that sickly-sweet scent you get from too much alcohol, and that it would take much too long for him to cum. I also knew that his hands were grabbing my hips a little too hard, and that I was going to have marks there tomorrow. I heard him growling and grunting, and myself moaning and panting, doing that porn-star act I used to be so good at. Somehow the thoughts that went through my mind, being fucked on that bed, floated across the room to where I was standing. I heard a muddled mix of half-drunk sentences: _

Is he ever going to finish? I'm going to have to fake it again. He sounds like an animal, it's almost amusing. What am I doing here, anyway? He isn't that hot, when I think about it. Wonder what Jake is doing? Did he get lucky with that silly girl? I think she had a lazy eye…

_And above it all I heard __the thoughts I desperately tried to repress at the time I was actually there, on all fours in that filthy bed. The words were repeating in the back of my mind, beneath all the other thoughts, rhythmically, with every thrust he made._

This

Is

Not

Me.

I

Am

Not

Here.

x.x.x

I wake up, startled, in the middle of the night. My heart is beating fast, and I am sweating. My dream was so real, and it is still fresh before my eyes. I sit up and lean my forehead against my knees, trying to calm down. I remember the night in my dreams, but I don't particularly feel like reliving it. I have had so many nights like that, and the men I've slept with are faceless forms without names. I don't even know if I remembered their names and faces in the morning. I usually left their apartments when they were still asleep, anxious to get home because I wanted a long, purifying shower and my own familiar bed.

I swing my feet off the bed and patter out of the bedroom, trying not to wake Edward. I grab my robe and wrap it around my body, shuddering from the chilly air. I go to the terrace door, looking out over the back yard. It is dusky outside; it is never entirely dark during the summer nights. A deer is walking slowly across the lawn, nibbling randomly at the grass. I tap the window and he lifts his head, watching me for a few minutes before deciding I'm not posing a threat to him, and continues his slow pace across the lawn.

I sit down on a chair and try to make sense of the dream I had.

_Saying no w__as never an option._

_I wonder why?_

I know that, at the time, I didn't mind the random sex with unknown dudes. I needed it in some weird way. It was rarely good sex, and I think I knew in advance that it wouldn't be good, but still I craved it. I loved the way they looked at me, the way I could make them react. Turning a man on was like a drug to me, and I got high on his horniness. Giving a man a hard-on made me feel like the king of the world, or at least the queen of sex. It made me feel like I was somebody. I was wanted by someone, and it didn't really matter who that somebody was as long as I got the high I wanted. Thinking back now it makes no sense to me. Coming down from that high was never a nice experience, and even if I didn't want to acknowledge it at the time, it always came with a load of self-loathing and disgust that I furiously tried to oppress. And to be honest, it did matter who that somebody was.

_I wanted Jake._

_Jake wasn't always available._

No, he wasn't always available. When he was, I was with him. Sex with Jake was different, because he actually cared about me. We didn't have entirely the same preferences when it came to sex, but he did the things I wanted him to, and I did the same for him. It was about giving and receiving, and it was good, always good. I never felt the urge to leave in the middle of the night, and I never needed to take a shower when I got home. Well, maybe I did need a shower, but I didn't want one. We never fell asleep after sex; we stayed awake all night talking. He told me his secrets, and I shared mine. Sometimes we slept for a while in the morning, ordered a pizza if we got hungry by noon, and ate it in bed while watching a movie. It wasn't unusual for me to stay until late in the afternoon before reluctantly heading back to my apartment.

_All the others were nothing but substitutes._

Besides being substitutes, they raised my low self-esteem. Well, at least for a while, before it sank deep again, sometimes even lower than before.

_To be honest, my self-esteem is still pretty low__…_

Someone taps my shoulder, and I jump off the chair, turn around and face Edward standing close to me.

"Holy shit, Edward, you scared me!" I punch him in the chest, furious and terrified.

He grabs my hands in mid-air to protect himself from my small fists.

"Calm down Bella, it's just me. What are you doing out here?"

He pulls me close and I rest my head against his chest, my fists still clenched. I'm trembling slightly, the tension from my dream and the shock of his sudden touch is still affecting me.

"I had a bad dream, and I couldn't go back to sleep." My voice is small.

"Shhh…" he soothes. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

"Um… No, I don't think so. It was about some things that happened… before you."

"Okay. Were they bad things?"

"Well, I didn't think it was at the time, but seeing it now kind of made me think it was."

"Were you hurt?"

"No, it wasn't like that at all. It was a bit scary, though. I was watching myself from afar in the dream, and I knew what was going to happen but I couldn't do anything about it. I wanted to change things, but all I could do was to watch."

"That doesn't sound nice."

"No, it wasn't." I shudder, and my eyes drift to the deer still wandering over the lawn in the dusk. "Can we please go back to bed? I'm kind of cold."

Edward takes my hand and leads me back to our bed. He lifts his duvet and motions for me to join him. I hesitate at first, but curl up against his body because I'm cold and still a bit on edge from the dream. The blinds are up, and the lights outside are gleaming through the window, shedding a pale light in the room. I feel Edward's hand on my head, twirling strands of my hair between his fingers. I'm lying with my head on his chest and my hand on his abdomen. The dream is still lingering in my mind; it has brought things that I have tried to forget for a long time to my attention.

I absentmindedly run my fingers back and forth across Edward's skin, and play with the tiny hair beneath his belly button. I follow the trail of hair with my index finger, smoothing it on the way down and ruffling it on the way back. I push the duvet away and watch his body in the faint light. I think about the difference between this thing I have with Edward, and the things from my past. I ponder the fact that when I should have said no to sex, I didn't have the courage. And now, when I have no reason not to have sex, I feel secure enough to actually say no. I can't help but wondering if this aversion to sex and touching stems from my old experiences, that this is some kind of backlash, or if it is about me being less insecure and feeling more in power of my own choices.

_Saying no is__ an option now… _

I slowly slide the back of my hand over Edward's abdomen and down to his thighs. When my fingers linger over his groin he shudders slightly.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "It tickles a little, but just ignore it."

… _but t__hat doesn't mean I have to make use of that option every time._

I nod and let my fingers continue their exploration. His groin is warmer than his thighs, and the closer I get to his sex, the warmer it gets. I touch the brim of his underwear and slide a finger beneath it, dragging it all the way from his scrotum up to his hip. I watch him grow inside his briefs, and I touch his sex through the fabric, stroking the length of him down to his balls and up again. I pull down his underwear, and he quickly slides them off.

"You don't have to do this, Bella. You don't have to touch my cock if you don't want to."

I smile at him, unsure of what to answer. I try to divert the conversation to some other issue, but the only thing that pops into my head has to do with word usage.

"So… is that what you call it? Is that the word I should use, too?"

"What, you mean cock? Are you discussing penis euphemisms?"

I hide my face in my hands, embarrassed and probably red like a traffic light. I hear the smile in his voice as he continues to speak, and I know he is going to tease me about this.

"Bella, you can use the word _cock_ if you want to. Actually, you can do it right now, as an exercise. Let me hear you use this new word in a sentence, Bella."

I mumble inaudibly into my hands. I feel a smile spread across my face, because when I think of it this is kind of funny. I'm still embarrassed, but he is teasing me and I want to get back at him.

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite hear that. Can you please articulate a little better, and maybe, just maybe, talk without your hands in front of your face? I think that would help your ability to communicate."

I remove my hands and look him straight in the eyes, take a deep breath, and use that word in a sentence, exactly like he wanted.

"Edward, I want to touch your cock."

His eyes grow big and he gasps, his erection twitching in reaction to my voice as I say this. He groans and closes his eyes.

"Jesus, Bella, are you trying to kill me? Hearing you say that is… you have no idea what that does to me!"

"Oh, I think I do know…"

I lay my head on his chest again, letting my fingers do a little silly walk from his belly button to his erect cock. They climb up on the head and walk around, tapping the ridge with tiny finger-steps before continuing down the length of him. His erection is slightly bent to the right, and I see the veins running along it, making his cock look like a pumped up muscle of some sort. It is almost amusing, and I giggle a little because it really looks… weird. I haven't seen it in such a long time; I have forgotten what it looks like and now it feels like I'm watching a strange and unusual creature.

I put my hand around the base and stroke all the way up to the head, letting my thumb slide over the slit where some clear liquid is seeping out. My amusement is turning into concern. It feels strange touching him, I feel inexperienced and I don't remember how to touch a man this way. I used to be an expert, but I have efficiently erased that knowledge from my brain.

I sit up and clear my throat, embarrassed by what I'm about to say.

"Edward, I don't remember how to… do this."

He opens his eyes and watches me with soft eyes.

"Do you want me to show you?"

I nod quietly, and he removes my hand from his erection, placing it on his chest instead. I watch as he grabs his cock and slowly strokes it up and down, twitching his hand a little at the head. As he increases the speed, I stop him and place my hand under his. He begins the stroking again, this time holding my hand in place around him, helping me to apply the correct pressure and speed. He is watching me as I keep my eyes on our hands stroking him, and I hear him moan quietly. I feel a shudder ripple through his erection as he releases over his bare stomach. I grab a tissue from the nightstand, and clean up the worst of the sticky mess.

_I did it!_

I feel victorious. I held him in my hand, and I made him cum. I did it. He sighs, grabs me and holds me close.

"Thank you, Bella."

He lets go of me and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. "I need a shower. Will you join me? I promise I'll behave."

I smile at him and follow him into the bathroom, all memories of my bad dream mercifully forgotten.


	15. Storms and Suspension Bridges

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just borrowed the names. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without written authorization. ©2010 SwedenSara. All rights reserved worldwide.**

**Thank you JillM12 and netracullen, my awesome betas! **

* * *

**_Storms and Suspension Bridges_**

Showering together turns out to be quite nice. It has been a while since we've done that. In our first apartment we had a huge shower, and we took every opportunity to use it together. Edward used to gently wash my body with a bath poof, and draw patterns with his fingers in the creamy lather on my skin. Feeling his soft and soapy hands trail down my body always made me shiver with lust. I realize it still does, and I revel in that discovery as I shower with Edward in the small, cramped cubicle we have now.

The next day Esme and Carlisle bring the kids back. Both Kate and Benji had a great time, but being away overnight has made them clingy. Even though it was very nice to have some alone-time with Edward, I missed them so much, and want to spend every minute with them now that they are home again. Benji is constantly hanging around my legs, and wants me to cuddle him. Kate has a million things to tell and never stops talking. Together, the kids give me and Edward very little time to talk to each other.

I don't really mind having Benji climbing at me the entire time. I carry him around, smelling his hair and nuzzling his soft cheeks, while listening to Kate's stories about all the exciting things she did with her grandparents. Once in a while Edward leans in to give me a kiss on the cheek, and Benji forcefully pushes him away every time.

"No daddy, t'is _my_ mommy!" He exclaims, with his small eyebrows creased. Benji's face shines in triumph as Edward walks away, and he celebrates his small victory by giving me a big, wet kiss. I shake my head at him and smile, because I think he is cute beyond words when he does that.

x.x.x

As good as last week ended, with touching and showering together, as bad the next week starts. I can sense Edward's mood shift, and tension is growing in the air. Edward is annoyed with something, and I have no idea what is bothering him so much. The more irritated and angry he gets, the more I avoid him. I hate when he is in this mood, it makes me nervous and wary. His patience with the kids is wearing thin, and he snaps at them for virtually no reason at all. It has been a while since he's been like this, but I know immediately where it's headed when I hear him curse, huff and growl over tiny mishaps.

For a long time, this was his everyday behaviour, up until a few months ago. During the worst period of our marriage, Edward was like this most days. The kids got the worst part of it. Not that he ever laid hands on them, but he was constantly mad at them for something, and it seemed like they could do nothing right in his opinion. They ate too slowly or messily, they didn't get dressed fast enough, they made too much noise, or they made a mess with their toys. Things that are quite normal for kids became a problem for Edward.

I feel myself disappear from reality again, getting more and more introverted with each day that passes. I don't think he is angry at me, but since he gives me no explanations, I'm not entirely sure. I try to avoid his temper by busying myself with the kids, and having them in my arms makes me feel like I have a shield that is protecting us from his glares. At night, when the kids are asleep, I withdraw to our bedroom or turn inwards, retreating to my "bubble".

My body is getting tenser by the minute, and the familiar constriction in my chest is returning in full force. It's like I have my frayed nerves on the outside, and when Edward is nearby my hyper sensitive skin reacts to his closeness, urging me to back away. I don't know how to act around Edward when he is angry. I feel like I'm out in stormy weather, trying to cross a wild river on an old suspension bridge. The bridge is swinging back and forth, and some of the boards are decayed. I fear, with every step I take, that I will fall through, down into the whirling water.

The week is passing by like this. We are drifting apart, Edward is in a bad mood, and I try to avoid it by making myself invisible. When Friday arrives, it all collapses. Dinner is ready and served, the kids are cleaned up and sitting at the table. Edward has spent the entire afternoon playing games at his computer. I tap his shoulder to get his attention, and he twirls around.

"What!" He snaps at me. He has an angry crease on his forehead, and I can see the veins pulsing at his temples. I instinctively back away.

"Dinner's ready. We're already at the table." My voice is cracking, and before I can say anything else he turns to the computer again.

"Yeah, I'll be there. Just wait a minute."

I go back to the table, put food on my plate and serve the kids. I cut Benji's food into small pieces and blow on it to cool it down. After giving Kate some vegetables, I start to eat, and halfway through the meal there is still no Edward at the table. I sigh and go back into the living room.

"What?" He hisses at me.

"Edward, your dinner is getting cold and the kids are almost finished. What is taking you so long?" I'm starting to feel a little pissed off right now. I've been cooking him dinner and he doesn't even have the decency to join us. He is playing a fucking computer game, and I can't understand how that can be more important than eating with his family.

"I'm coming, stop nagging me!"

I look at him, and go back to the table without a word. I finish my meal in the company of my kids, and put our plates in the dish washer. I leave the pots on the table for Edward, and take the kids to our bedroom to read them a story. As we cuddle up in our bed, I hear Edward warm his now cold food in the microwave. When the story is finished the kids are getting sleepy, and I brush their teeth before putting them to bed. Edward is back by his computer, and before I can stop myself I make a sour remark as I pass him.

"Wow, Edward, thanks for the lack of company tonight. It was really nice to not have you at the table."

I curse inside as the words spill out of my mouth. This is not going to make things better. I watch him turn to me, and I hold my breath.

"Likewise, Bella. Although you seem to be more than happy with the company of the kids, so who am I to interfere with that?"

I hear the biting irony in his voice; it is dripping with acid and eating its way into my chest.

"What the… what kind of lame excuse is that? It would have been nice to have some company, you know, or at least a helping hand once in a while."

He laughs bitterly at me.

"Are you implying that I don't do my share at home? As far as I recall, we've been splitting things rather equally these past months."

"Yeah, you've been a regular housemaid this week…"

"What, like you would have noticed if I did anything at home anyway! If it didn't include the kids, you wouldn't be interested." His reply baffles me, and I stare at him, desperately searching for words to hurt him with.

"Well, at least one of us acknowledged the kids this week! They were away for the weekend, so forgive me for missing them while they were gone. It doesn't seem like _you_ did, though. I'm sure the kids would appreciate to spend some time with their father, even if it's only for dinner. You might want to try it once in a while."

Before he has a chance to answer I turn around and flee from this conversation. I don't like the way we become in these situations. We have been here so many times before, his bad temper is making me pass snotty remarks, and he is answering with acid and irony. I run to our bedroom and slide down under the duvet. I can still smell the kids on the sheets: Kate's strawberry shampoo and a hint of that special outdoorsy, sunburnt scent that their skin gets from being out in the sun. I curl up and try to relax. As I listen to Edward hammering the keyboard, tears are slowly trickling down my cheeks. I feel so disappointed, in both him and me. This is how our life once used to be, and I can't believe how easily we fell back to that. I focus on my breathing, inhale the scent of the kids, and let my thoughts wander.

_Why did it come to this? What is his problem, anyway?_

I think back on our week, trying to make sense of it all.

_Did I do something, or w__as it something that I didn't do? _

I have a creeping feeling that I could have avoided this whole thing. I replay the week in my head, putting it on repeat and rewind. As I watch us, in retrospect, I notice my own behaviour clearly. I spent a lot of time with the kids when they got home, and as his temper got worse I stayed out of his way, spending even more time with the kids. I haven't exactly been communicating with him.

He hasn't been very talkative either, and even though I think he could have told me from the beginning what his bad mood was all about, I haven't been much better myself. Edward isn't the one to communicate very much when we have trouble in our marriage, I know that. I could have asked him, but instead I tried to hide. My guess is that my avoiding him only made things worse. We have gone about this all wrong, both of us.

_This is silly, we are grown ups for God's sake!_

I rise from the bed, and as I pass through the hallway to the living room a sick feeling is rising in the pit of my stomach. Edward is sitting on the couch watching TV, and he doesn't even look at me when I stop by his side. I clear my throat, and he still doesn't look at me. I sigh, brace myself, and begin to talk.

"Are you still mad at me?" He doesn't answer, he just sits there. I know, despite his posture and the distant look in his eyes, that he's listening to me. He fiddles with the remote, switching channels randomly.

_He is as nervous about this as I am._

I keep talking, and sit down next to him.

"I'm not mad anymore. I'm sorry for the things I said, they were… not necessary."

He takes a deep breath, runs his hands through his hair, and turns to me.

"Yeah, I kind of got out of line, too."

_Thank God, he's talking to me._

"What's been going on this week? You've been in a bad mood."

He rubs his face, and then pinches his nose with burrowed brows.

"I don't know, exactly. There were these feelings, and I didn't know how to deal with them. I guess I've been an ass, right? I don't like myself when I'm acting like that, but I don't know how to stop."

I look at my hands, plucking at nearly invisible knots at my sweater.

"Well… what kind of feelings? Were you angry at me? It seemed like you were."

"No, I wasn't. Well, actually I was a little mad, maybe. I don't know. I just felt… cut out."

I stare at him.

"What, how? What do you mean?"

"It's just that we had this great weekend, all by ourselves, and then the kids came back, and it was like I didn't exist for you anymore. Benji was all over you, and Kate was babbling like a maniac, and I got nothing. I felt lonely."

I sit quiet for a while. I did spend a lot of time with the kids, because I really missed them when they were away, and I had to refuel some love from them. And then I spent even more time with them, to avoid my angry husband, which apparently made him feel lonely and left out. I nod slowly, because it all makes sense now.

"I'm sorry you felt lonely. I didn't mean for that to happen, I just… I missed the kids a lot and needed to be close to them."

"I get that, and I realize I'm being childish, but I'm actually jealous. They got to hug you and kiss you, and I didn't."

"Oh. Why didn't you just say something?"

"I don't know. Why did you stay away from me all week?"

"I… I don't like it when you are angry." I whisper, with my eyes closed, and continue in a low and unsteady voice.

"When you seemed to be so mad, I kind of preferred their company. Even if I know that you're not mad at me, it still makes me feel nervous and tense. It makes me feel sick. I don't handle other people's anger that well, I guess."

"So… my anger bothers you that much? I didn't realize… I'm angry a lot, aren't I?"

"Not so much, now. But you used to be."

He sighs, and slumps his shoulders.

"I'm sorry…" He whispers. A single tear is glimmering in the corner of his eye, and I wipe it away with my index finger.

"Bella? Maybe we could use some counselling, both of us. I mean, you have your issues, and I have mine. Being angry like this, it's not good. I'm making things worse for you, and I need to stop that."

"I guess so… Would you do that for me?"

"Yeah, I think that would be good. I'm sorry, Bella. I screwed up."

"It's fine. I screwed up too, remember?"

I lean my head against his shoulder, and close my eyes. The sickness in my stomach is subsiding, and my tense chest is loosening up. My skin is less sensitive, and being close to Edward doesn't feel bad anymore. I take a deep breath, inhaling his scent.

The suspension bridge I felt like I was crossing is stable, the wild river below is peaceful, and the storm has calmed down. I feel good.


	16. Exposure and Erotica

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just borrowed the names. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without written authorization. ©2010 SwedenSara. All rights reserved worldwide.**

**Thank you JillM12 and netracullen, my awesome betas, and to MsRobPattzMasen for prereading! Oh, and don't forget to check out the new fic I'm writing with JillM12 and Netracullen: Smutiversity http: / / www . fanfiction . net /s/6034948/1/Smutiversity**

**Also, thanks to TaraSueMe for letting me use "Turpentine". If you haven't read her stories, you really need to. Seriously, you do.**

* * *

_**Exposure and Erotica**_

**To:** Jacob Black  
**From:** Bella Swan  
**Subject:** Crazy person!

Hi Jakey-boy, all good with you?  
Need your help. Turns out I'm a nut-head after all.  
Got any good counsellor persons to get my mind straight?  
Preferably one with experience in PPD, that also does  
couples counselling. Yeah, that's right. Couples counselling.  
Turns out I'm not the only nut in the family…

Love you hard.

/B

I stifle a yawn, click send, and head to the bathroom. Edward is already in bed. We're both exhausted from this week's tension, not to mention the show-down tonight. It wasn't pretty, but we managed to get through eventually. I feel bad for showing him so little attention, and he feels bad for being jealous of Kate and Benji. I brush my teeth, check on the kids one last time, and slide down next to Edward. He's not asleep yet, so I turn to him.

"Edward? Next time you feel lonely because I spend too much time with the kids, can you please tell me that in a nice way? I don't want it to get out of hand like that again. And I really need you to tell me how you feel."

He turns towards me, strokes my hair, and fiddles with the strands.

"I promise. And next time you feel uncomfortable because I'm too angry, can you tell me that? In a nice way, of course?" He gives me a lopsided grin, and I sigh before answering. This is a hard one, actually. I've tried to tell him when he was out of line a few times before, and I'd prefer not doing it again. He didn't take it very well.

"I guess I can, but I don't really know how to say it. I don't want to use the wrong words, because sometimes when I've done that, it only got worse."

"Oh… I'm sorry, I guess I'm not very perceptive when I'm like that. It's like I get lost in the feeling, and get wound up even more. Maybe you can just say something totally random, like a signal or something, so I know I'm crossing the line?"

"Um, sure. You mean like a secret word, or something?"

"Right, and if it's so random you'd never use it in that context anyway, I'll know you're not trying to say something just to piss me off. And since nobody else knows what it's about, we can use it around other people as well, and I don't have to feel like you're… telling me off publicly, or something. Do you think that can work?"

"Sure. What word?"

"How about… Turpentine?"

I stare at him, incredulously, because that's a really odd word to chose. Random, yes, but very odd.

"What the… _turpentine_? Seriously? Well, at least it's random… So, turpentine it is. How did you even come up with that?"

"I don't know, really. I think I read it somewhere… Or I probably saw it in the garage or something. I just got an image of the bottle in my head."

I shake my head and smile before I turn my back at him to get into my sleeping position.

"You are weird sometimes, you know that, right?"

"You too. Good night, Bella!"

I wake up early in the morning, just before sunrise. The kids aren't awake, and since I can't go back to sleep I decide to fire up the computer. I make myself a cup of tea while I wait to get online, and then I log on to my email account. Jake has replied, and I smile as I open it up.

**To:** Bella Swan  
**From:** Jacob Black  
**Subject:** Told you so…

See, I knew you weren't correctly manufactured, brain wise…  
Of course I can give you a few names if you need some mental  
mending. So, PPD, huh? That is a bitch… Is E on board for this?  
He needs to be supportive if you're going to get better. Tell him  
to call me if he wants to know more about the anxiety. It might be  
easier for me to explain how it works, since I've been there a lot.  
Give me a call, and I'll get you some names and numbers!

You know I like it hard…

/J

I snicker at his last line. Nobody can make a dirty answer to a completely innocent sentence like he does. Well, maybe me, in the old days. The bantering between us could go on, and on, and on, and apparently it still does. I'm glad he offered to talk to Edward about the anxiety; even if I'm not sure Edward would take him up on that one. Jake is right about it being hard to explain, because I haven't really figured it out yet. Of course, one person's anxiety is not the same as another's, and the reasons for the anxiety vary a lot. Still, some things are common, and if Edward knows a bit more about how it affects me, it will be easier for him to understand, and not feel so rejected.

I think counselling would be a good thing, for both of us. I prefer to solve things on my own, and I think I've made some real progress, but we still need help if this change is going to last. I'm kind of proud of myself, though.

**To:** Jacob Black  
**From:** Bella Swan  
**Subject:** I'm quite handy, pun totally intended.

Well, I seem to be crafty when it comes to mending my own  
mental manufacturing faults. I'm happy to report that there  
has been touching going on recently. In x-rated places, too, as  
a matter of fact: with me being the touch-er, and him being  
the touch-ee, so to speak. Hopefully I'll be able to turn the  
tables soon. Would be nice to enjoy being touched again.  
*singing corny Samantha Fox hit from -86: "Touch  
me, touch me, I wanna feel your body…"*

In your dreams, bb!

/B

I spend some time searching the latest news, and surprisingly enough, when I'm halfway through an article of a serial killer in Seattle, Jake's reply arrives. _Is he awake this early?_ I yawn and read.

**To:** Bella Swan

**From:** Jacob Black

**Subject:** Oh yes, in my dreams

I remember those dexterous hands of yours. Your voice singing  
Sam Fox is definitely something I want to erase from my mind,  
though. Please be quiet. *puts in earplugs*

How about your dreams?

/J

_Yeah… How about my dreams? And how about Edwards?_

I do still have dreams. More than that, I still have sex dreams. They are not gracing my sleep frequently though, and most of the time I wake up before I get to the fun stuff. I rarely dream about Edward, unfortunately. It's always someone else, mostly celebrities, girls, and occasionally one of my old regular boys from back in the day, the ones I actually enjoyed having sex with. Jake has made a few appearances in them, and it always makes me feel guilty. I wish I would dream about Edward.

Sometimes, when I wake up from a dream like that, I think about waking him up. I always chicken out, unfortunately. I try to will myself to approach him, but then I can't muster up the courage to actually do it, and end up being lonely. At least that's what I used to do, because to be honest, it has changed. He's not mad as often anymore, and I'm better at telling him what I want. Last night I even spoke to him, even though he was in a bad mood. If last night had happened a year ago, we would've just tiptoed around each other, saying nothing at all, making it worse every day until indifference took over.

I don't really know how to answer Jake's question. I could steer clear of the serious issue underlying his bantering, by keeping the focus on wet dreams and sexual fantasies. That would be the easy way. Jake was always easily distracted by me telling him about my fantasies, especially if they included me with other women. On the other hand, I know he wouldn't let it go. One way or the other he would bring it up again, because he always knows what the crux of the matter is.

And he is right, of course. He knows about the dreams I used to have, what I wanted for myself in the long run. I need to figure out what I dream of now, and not in the sexual context. Well, that could probably help, too. I sigh, and start typing.

**To:** Jacob Black  
**From:** Bella Swan  
**Subject:** Not those kinds of dreams

I haven't dreamt in a long time. But if I think about it now,  
I dream about being the way we used to be, Edward and I.  
I dream about feeling in love, horny and happy. I dream  
about holding hands and sitting next to him on the couch,  
falling asleep against his shoulder. But also, I dream about  
craving his touch, needing his kisses and wanting his – well,  
you know ;)

No, you're not in those dreams…

/B

I don't have to wait long for his reply this time either.

**To:** Bella Swan  
**From:** Jacob Black  
**Subject:** Glad I'm not in them…

… because I don't ever want to be close to his – well, you know :(  
Girl, you need to take his hand and get back there on the sofa. Oh,  
and maybe watch some porn to get in the mood… I can send you  
some useful pics of me in compromising positions! Or maybe you  
just check out Edward's porn stash in the computer. I'm sure he has  
one, because he's a dude. Or at least I think he is, being the father of  
your children and all…

Good dream-hunting!

/J

He has a point, there. Maybe that _would_ get me in the mood… I guess this is a good time for some porn searching, since Edward and the kids still are asleep. I know he has a stash somewhere, and it doesn't take me long to find a folder called "Edward" in a really strange place. As I open it I see three different sub-folders, and I think for a while. If I was to hide something from him, I'd most likely put it in a folder labelled with something he'd never be interested in. His folders are labelled "Pictures", "Movies" and "Games". I chose the game folder, and there it is. Edward's porn stash is displayed in front of me, and I feel like a sly private investigator for having found it.

I start browsing the pictures. One girl is appearing quite often, apparently he likes her. I'm a bit surprised by it, because she looks nothing like the porn stars I've imagined. She seems to be between 18 and 20, and she has long brown hair and brown eyes. Her boobs are small, probably the same size mine were before breastfeeding. She looks like an average girl next door, well, a pretty one at least. There aren't a lot of men in his pictures, only an occasional penis doing its business with the girl.

I'm not sure penis is the correct word to use in this context, though. Edward uses the word cock. I just can't get used to it, although it is obviously a lot sexier than penis. I don't know what to call my own genitalia, either. Cooter or beaver is too funny, and pussy is like cock, just too much… porn. I never used to have problems with those words, and now they are nothing but a reminder of things I don't want to think about. I'm being silly, I know. I should just get used to the words, since they are the ones Edward prefers. If I repeat them often enough they'll probably feel less harsh.

Some of the pictures are girl on girl action, and I don't mind that at all. That has always been a frequent fantasy of mine, and it is slightly reassuring that Edward seems to enjoy the idea, even if it's something that will never happen in real life. I feel a familiar stirring in my nether regions – _my pussy_ - as I click on picture after picture. The kids are still asleep, and I'm beginning to wonder if I should get back into bed and wake Edward up for some early morning affection. I smile, because it would be fantastic if I could actually pull that off. Considering the tingling down below I'm more than ready, that's for sure. I've just decided to shut down the porn stash as a new picture appears, and I freeze.

_What the fuck is this?_

I raise my hand to cover my mouth, and stare wide-eyed at the picture that is revealed on the screen. A fairly young girl with strawberry blond hair is standing by a wall, with her arms and legs spread wide, her wrists and ankles shackled to some sort of bars. She is naked, and her eyes are covered with a black blindfold. There is a man standing in front of her, holding a whip in his hands. The girl has several red marks over her breasts and abdomen, and a quiet sob rises in my chest as I realize he's whipping her.

I keep browsing with increasing heart rate, and my blood is pumping furiously through my veins. I see girl after girl, gagged, bound, and tied up in seriously weird positions. I see nipples pinched by strange metal clips, whips and benches in dark rooms, girls in cages and girls hanging with their hands tied to weird devices in the ceiling. Some of the things I see, I don't even understand what they are for.

My heart sinks into my belly, and I suddenly feel like throwing up. My hands are trembling, and I desperately want to stop looking, but I can't avert my eyes. I look at every single picture, and all I can see is girls being exposed and abused. When I look at this, I don't see sex, or even porn. I see hurt, restraint, force, abuse and violence.

_Is this what he wants?_

I stare at the pictures. I'm uncomfortable, sad and angry, and suddenly very frightened.

_Does he want to do this to me?_

_Does he want to hurt me, to abuse me?_

The pictures stir things in my memories that I don't want to think about, and I wish I never opened that stupid folder.

_How the__ hell am I going to handle this?_

I slump down over the keyboard, putting my head heavily in my hands. I close my eyes, as if not looking at the pictures will make them disappear.

Suddenly, I hear a low gasp behind my back. I open my eyes slowly and turn around. Standing behind me, with a horrified expression on his ashen face, is Edward. His voice is strained and filled with pain as he speaks.

"Bella, what the f… what are you _doing_?"

* * *

_**A/N Ok, if you are too young to know about Samantha Fox, here's a link to the *ahem* fabulous song: http : / / www . youtube . com / watch?v=MiuimDNlyuQ**_


	17. Love and Lust

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just borrowed the names. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without written authorization. ©2010 SwedenSara. All rights reserved worldwide.**

**Thank you JillM12 and netracullen, my awesome betas, and to MsRobPattzMasen for prereading! Oh, and don't forget to check out the new fic I'm writing with JillM12 and Netracullen: Smutiversity http: / / www . fanfiction . net /s/6034948/1/Smutiversity**

* * *

_**Love and Lust**_

x.x.x

_**EPOV**_

"Bella? Answer me! What are you doing, and why are you looking at my pictures?"

My voice is trembling, from both fear and anger. Fear of what she's thinking right now, having seen the pictures I've been trying to hide from her. Anger, for the fact that she's been searching my private folders. It feels like a violation of trust, like she's been reading my diary, figuratively speaking. I'm afraid and I'm furious, and I don't really know which feeling to go with.

Bella is staring at me, with wide eyes. She opens her mouth as if she's trying to say something, but not a word comes out. Somehow she looks like a deer caught in the headlights of a racing car, and the sight slowly diminishes my anger. I step closer to her and raise my hand pleadingly, but she inhales quickly and jumps off the chair. She backs away from me, and I turn to the computer instead, closing the picture on the screen and the folder they are located in. _How the hell did she find them? And why was she rummaging through my files anyway?_ The anger is rising in my chest again, and I clench my jaw and wait for her to say something.

Bella is still not speaking. She is standing behind the coffee table, wringing her hands, with a frightened expression on her face. I notice an angry crease on her forehead, and I realize she looks exactly as I feel: scared and angry. Her breathing is fast and shallow, her skin is pale and she's got faint dark circles under her eyes. Suddenly I wonder why she looks so tired, and how long she's been awake. It's still quite early in the morning, and she obviously has spent some time by the computer, considering she found all these pictures. An image is slowly entering my mind. I see Bella, alone by the computer, watching picture after picture. I know these pictures by heart, and I'm certain they are not something that she would like her husband to watch, considering her issues with sex and touching. _Shit. She must be terrified._

"Bella…" I whisper. "Please, say something. I'm so sorry you had to see that. Bella?"

Her facial expression suddenly changes, the fear subsides and a soft smile takes its place. For a brief moment I think that the look on her face is meant for me, but then I see Benji in the corner of my eye. _Go figure._ His little feet are padding towards her, and she lifts him up. He puts his small arms around her neck, clinging to her like a tiny spider monkey.

"Hey Benji, are you awake already?" Her voice is tender and loving, and she caresses his back.

"Mommy, I'm hungry." I hear him mumble into her neck, and she carries him towards the kitchen. Her steps falter when she passes me, and she finally says something.

"I don't understand, Edward. Those pictures I saw… they frighten me."

_Of course she is scared. Fuck. _

_I have some serious explaining to do, and I don't know how to tell her about it._

_On the other hand, so does she._

Benji is demanding her attention, and for once I'm thankful for his being the momma's boy that he is, because it is buying me some time to think this through. I jump into the shower, feeling the hot water loosen my tense shoulders and the moist air fill my lungs. The water is cascading down my body, washing away the worries. I decide that there is a solution to all of this. There has to be. She probably had a good reason for looking in my folders, because she would never do something like that with the intention of violating me. We just need to talk about this. She can explain what she was doing, and I can explain what those pictures mean to me. Well, at least I can try. I'm not sure if she'll understand.

I spend a considerate amount of time in the shower, just because it's so damned nice and I need to think. About half an hour later I'm done, showered and dressed, and I smell freshly made coffee from the kitchen. Bella always drinks tea in the mornings, and I usually go with whatever she makes, even though I'd prefer a cup of coffee. I guess I'm just too lazy to do it myself. She knows this, and I realize she made this coffee just for me. This is a way of saying "I'm sorry," and I smile as I pour myself a cup. I sit down next to Benji. Kate is up as well, eating breakfast in her PJs. She smiles at me and points at my cup of coffee.

"Mommy and I made this for you. Do you like it?"

"Of course I like it, honey. You and your mother always know how to make me happy, right?"

"Yes, we do! You like orange juice, too, but we didn't have any."

"Well, coffee is just what I needed, so thank you for that!"

"Guess what, mommy told me that maybe we can go to grandma Renée today, and stay there the entire night. It'll be like a sleepover!"

I stare at Kate, and I'm suddenly terrified that this means Bella is leaving me, that she wants to stay with her parents as well.

"Um…" Bella clears her throat. "I was thinking I could take the kids to visit my parents, and that maybe they could stay there for the day. We could, you know, maybe talk a little while they're gone. I haven't asked my mom yet, though."

_Oh. So that's what she was thinking. She is not leaving; she's just trying to find a way to talk about this. _

This conversation is not something I'd like to have with the kids around, anyway. It's actually a great idea, even if I'm still a bit worried. When the kids aren't around there is also the risk of the discussion being more heated, and I'm not particularly keen on having a full-blown argument. I nod appreciatively at her, sipping my coffee.

A few hours later I hear the car on the driveway, as Bella returns from her parents. I'm getting a bit anxious, knowing Bella is going to want me to explain. I still don't know what to say, I really haven't thought about why those pictures turn me on. The idea of bondage, in particular, is something that has been in my fantasies for a long time. I've never told anyone about them, but I always hoped for us to be able to explore that together. There is something about the willingness to completely put yourself at someone else's mercy, allow them to give you pleasure, to trust them completely with all of you... I would like for Bella to trust me like that, to be completely mine, letting me dominate her, guide her, and show her how much pleasure she can feel. I want to give her the freedom of just receiving pleasure, without feeling that she has to give something back to me.

I just don't know how to tell her this.

x.x.x

_**BPOV**_

I pull up on the driveway, and turn off the car. I stay seated for a few minutes, breathing slowly, gathering the courage to go inside and face the conversation I'm so afraid of. I have no idea what to expect. The pictures I found could very easily just be nothing but some unimportant pictures that he happened to download once and never got around to deleting. Or, they could be the most important ones. If that's the case, I don't know what to think anymore. If he is turned on by watching women being hurt, then he's not the person I thought he was. And if this means he wants to hurt _me_, then I don't think I can stay with him. So yes, I'm afraid of this conversation, because it could very easily change my life.

Edward is waiting for me, lying on his back on the bed. I lie down beside him and pull my knees up, wrapping myself with a blanket. We look at each other, neither of us wanting to take the first step. I feel I should explain why I was looking at those pictures in the first place, because I really shouldn't have done that. They were his, and if he was going through stuff in my folders I'd probably be mad at him. I know I owe him an apology.

"So, Bella… what were you doing, this morning?"

I take a deep breath, and try to explain.

"I… I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have looked at those pictures. It was a stupid thing to do, but I…" My voice trails off, and I don't know how to continue.

"Well, why were you, then? I don't get it." He frowns and runs his hands through his hair. I feel the smell of his shampoo drifting towards me, and it's a safe smell that makes me calm. I breathe deeply again.

"I couldn't sleep, and I was emailing with Jake about depression and stuff, and I felt bad for… you know, for not wanting to have sex. So I got this idea that maybe I could get in the mood or something. And I thought about your pictures, which I _swear_ I haven't looked at before, but I knew you had them. I thought they could help me, that I'd get turned on, and that it would be a nice surprise for you if I came to you and we could… Anyway, it was stupid. I shouldn't have done that."

I'm rambling, and I must sound completely incoherent, because Edward is staring at me.

"What, you wanted to surprise me, with sex? In the morning?"

"Um… yeah." I'm starting to feel a little embarrassed.

"That's why you went through my porn stash?"

"I guess…"

"Huh… Well, thanks, I think. I mean, it didn't quite go according to plan, but it was a nice thought."

He looks oddly confused, but the anger I heard in his voice earlier is gone. I'm quiet, waiting for him to speak again. I feel relieved, since I've explained myself, and he doesn't seem angry about it.

"You know, the pictures you saw… I don't know what to say about them." He looks lost, trying to find the words and not succeeding. "What do you want to know? We can do… like twenty questions or something. Only, you ask me all the questions."

I sigh. This is it, I'm getting my answers. There is no point in delaying it.

"Ok, so twenty questions it is. Do they turn you on?"

"Yes, they do."

I think for a few seconds before I ask the next question. "Have you been into that kind of stuff for a long time?"

"Yes, I have."

"But why? That is violent! How can you be turned on while watching women being abused?"

"Um… It's not about abuse, Bella. It's about… I don't know how to explain it! I've come across some movies by mistake with girls actually being hurt, like in reality, and I tell you, that is absolutely disgusting, and just… just fucking _wrong_. I hated that and wanted to bleach my eyes after seeing it. But the thing you saw, that is not about abuse." He covers his face and shakes his head, clearly frustrated.

I'm doing a poor job at not letting my indignation show. "Well, abuse and violence is what I see in those pictures. I see hurt, and force, and_ pain_, and… I don't get it! Do you want to hurt me?"

"Shit, of course not! I'd never hurt you! I just… I wish that you'd trust me. I'm not that into _all_ those things, most of them I just like to watch, and I like to read about it, but I'd never dream of acting everything out. Maybe I like it because it's a bit dirty, taboo, you know. The thing about bondage, though, it's a bit different…"

"What, how do you mean, different?" I raise my eyebrows at him.

"Bella, this is going to sound… weird and harsh and I don't know how to say it without you hearing the wrong things. But I kind of like the idea of… dominance. That's what the bondage is about, for me." He looks at me. His face is troubled and I can hear in his voice that this is important to him.

"Well, I still don't understand why you'd want me to be tied up. What's the point if I can't even move? That has to be boring sex, right?" I've always believed that men like their women to be active in bed. Being tied up definitely prevents you from being active.

"Well, that's kind of the point. You can't avoid anything, and I'm I charge."

"Okay, I'm really uncomfortable with the idea that you want to force me, and that there is no way for me to escape."

He sighs and touches my face lightly and I close my eyes, letting myself feel his soft caress. This thing he is saying, it doesn't add up with the way he touches me.

"I suck at explaining this to you… I don't want to force you to do anything, Bella, and this is not something we need to do, ever, it's just a fantasy of mine. I can't really help thinking about it, but I can live without actually doing it, you know."

His words make me feel safe again. I do believe him, because Edward would never hurt me. I know that deep in my heart, and I feel it in my entire being.

"Explain this domination thing. I can understand it theoretically, that you want me to let you decide over my body. But I mean, you never do anything without asking me first, you always let me decide things even if I practically beg you to make a decision, you consult me on everything… why do you want to dominate me when it comes to sex? Is it just a general wish to be more… in demand of things?"

"Um, I don't know really. I haven't analyzed it like that; it's just the way I am. I've never thought about it. But maybe you're right."

A thought enters my mind as I'm contemplating this. _Maybe I'm to blame for some of this?_

"Am I too dominating in this marriage, you know, otherwise?"

"Maybe… but I allow that, so that's kind if my own fault, right? Because I do let you make all the decisions. If you decide everything, then I have no responsibility for things, and that's really easy for me. It's not very fair to you, I realize now… I'm leaving everything to you, and then kind of just tag along. That's not good."

I smile slightly at him, because he is absolutely right. "Yeah, you kind of do that… Maybe if you are more decisive in everyday life, you won't feel… this need? Because to be honest, I don't think I want to be restrained in that kind of way. I… have some issues with that."

"I understand how you can see violence and abuse in those pictures, Bella, but trust me, that is not something I would ever do. I would never, ever, hurt you. When people engage in this kind of… games, it's always consensual. Even if the dominant one is calling the shots, the submissive is the one that decides what he or she wants to accept. You have this word, a safe word, and whenever one of you says it, the game has to stop. And that rule is not ever to be broken. It's all about trust, you know. And that is what I wish… that you'd trust me." He sighs and takes my hand. He silently plays with my wedding ring and twirls it around my finger.

"I do trust you, Edward. I know you would never hurt me, I just… got scared and confused." I watch him as he fiddles with my fingers. "It freaked me out, because I love you, and I didn't recognise you in all of this."

He looks at me, stunned.

"I love you too, Bella. And you won't ever have to do something you're not comfortable with."

"I know, Edward."

We lie on the bed silently, watching each other for a long time, both of us in deep thought. I know that Edward never would do anything to hurt me, and I have a hard time joining the things I've always known about my husband, to the things I recently found out. What made me love Edward in the first place is the sense of security I got from being around him. He always made me feel secure, and even if my body has been reacting in a contradictory way lately, I still know that I am safe with him.

_Maybe I don't have to worry so much about this. Of course he doesn't want to hurt me. _

I think about these things Edward fantasizes about, and what he dreams of. Maybe he is right, maybe it isn't about hurt and abuse. I still don't actually see how it can be about something else, but he says so, and I want to trust him.

I start to feel bad for dismissing his desires so abruptly. What if I'd told him about my fantasies, and he'd been the one reacting like I did? That would have made me feel horrible. If this is important to him, then maybe I need to at least try to understand it. Even if I can't meet his desires, I can embrace and accept them. And maybe, in the long run, I will be able to give him some of the things he wants. I have no idea how, since I barely can think about having regular vanilla sex with him yet, but I want to give that to him.

It would be a gift, from me to him, because I love him.


	18. Vacations and Veering Views

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just borrowed the names. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without written authorization. ©2010 SwedenSara. All rights reserved worldwide.**

**I have a lot of people to thank in this A/N: Thank you JillM12 and netracullen, my awesome betas. I love you both! Thank you the-masticator and dragonfly336, who helped me out with this chapter as well! LuluM, the queen of commas, thank you for sorting things out for me... **

**Oh, and don't forget to check out the fic I'm writing with JillM12 and Netracullen: Smutiversity http: / / www . fanfiction . net /s/6034948/1/Smutiversity**

**I'm also entering the PTB Bree Tanner challenge. My one-shot is here on my FFn profile, check it out and let me know if you like it. And don't forget to vote when the contest begins!**

**Finally, I dedicate this chapter to Bree Tanner and Project Team Beta. Without her and the PTB challenge, this chapter would have been delayed even more. Writer's block really sucks...**

* * *

_**Vacations and Veering V**__**iews**_

**To:** Bella Swan  
**From:** Jacob Black  
**Subject:** The best

I've been thinking about therapists and  
counsellors, and the best in my opinion  
is Emily Young. She's maybe a bit different,  
but that's mostly because she wants to  
do a good job. She will want to record  
your session. Then she'll make a  
transcript of it and add her notes and  
thoughts. She is very thorough. I'll send  
you her number later.

Hope you are doing alright!

/J

I read Jake's email again, and shake my head. Somehow, the therapy thing feels awkward, and even though I realize we both need it – especially considering recent events – I feel really uncomfortable with the thought of sitting in a room, with a person I don't know, and sharing my inner thoughts and fears. I'm not even comfortable doing that with people I do know. Edward is going to be there as well, which probably means I'm going to hear things about myself that will be less than nice. It scares me, because sometimes the truth hurts. This will be the final proof that I'm a bad wife. I'll have it in transcript as well, with notes.

I call Edward at work, asking him if I should make the appointment or not. He tells me that he'll go with whatever I decide, so it's all up to me. I sigh. He means well by letting me decide, but that means I'm in charge again, making the decisions, and he is floating behind. I guess since it is me having a problem it's fair enough, though. I need to get over myself and get this done. When my phone beeps with Jake's incoming message, I only hesitate a few seconds before I save the name and number of this Emily Young counsellor person.

I pack a bag with bathing suits and some lunch, and take the kids to the beach. We sit together on the blanket, eating bagels and drinking fruit drinks before the kids run down to the water. I get up and follow them, pausing at the water's edge. I feel the sun warming my skin, and as the kids' laughter blends with the sounds of birds, I watch the waves slowly rolling in, wishing Edward was here too. I realize I miss him. He still has a few weeks of work left before his vacation, and we'll only get a week or two together before I go back to work again.

I bury my toes in the sand and watch my feet. The water is flowing over them, burying them entirely, before running away. It reminds me of my shifting emotions, the way they seem to wash over me and drown me before slowly draining off. I don't know how to control them. To me they seem like a force of nature, something that renders me helpless and forces me to take shelter and just ride it out.

I close my eyes and focus on the feeling of water on my feet. I realize that it is different than the emotions I compared them too. The water is gentle, soothing, and it cools my feet. This is how I want my emotions to be. I want them to be gentle, to soothe me, to make me feel comfortable and safe. This is what I want from counselling: I want to find a way to understand how my emotions affect me. I want to make them more like the water that is gently caressing my feet than water that is rushing over me, drowning me entirely.

The realization fills my body with relief and makes me relax. I smile at my kids, and sit down in the sand with Kate, helping her making a sand castle. Benji is digging a moat all the way around it, trying to fill it with water from a small bucket. It instantly seeps down through the sand, and he happily keeps filling it up, not yet old enough to be frustrated by the futility of the task. His tiny feet are padding back and forth to the water while he's talking to himself, convincing himself that he is a big, strong boy, able to carry tons of water to fill the small ditch in the sand. Kate is meticulously building towers, decorating them with shells and sticks, drawing patterns on the walls, and placing small cones to be people on the courtyard.

I watch them and my heart is flooded with love for these two children, the result of the marriage between me and Edward. We may be lost sometimes, and even fall out of love from time to time, but we made these wonderful kids together. When I look at them at this moment, I see not only Kate and Benji. I see the incarnation of the love we share, and even if the initial passion faded long ago, I think that maybe the foundation of our relationship is still strong enough. We still feel love; it is just a different feeling now than in the beginning. That difference doesn't mean it's not worth as much, and it doesn't mean it's not love.

I smile at our beautiful kids, take a picture of them by the castle in the sand, and send it to Edward.

As we come home I take the phone and call Dr. Emily Young, supposedly awesome therapist, and make an appointment a few days from now. She asks me if I know how she works and explains it to me. It's basically the same as Jake told me; she will record our sessions, take notes, and then add her notes to the transcript. Reading the transcript and listening to the recording fulfils two purposes for her: she can be thorough and do the best job possible with us and she can evaluate her own part in the session. It somehow makes me feel good that she wants to improve her skills with every session. She is not only evaluating me but also herself. It makes me feel less like an object and more like an equal. Her voice is soothing and compassionate, and I hang up with a good feeling.

I realize we'll have to find a babysitter for this appointment, and call my parents. Renee wants to take the kids to the zoo, so we decide that they'll stay overnight and visit the zoo the next day. It'll give me and Edward time to deal with the counselling and the issues that might come up. It feels good to have the opportunity to completely focus on ourselves. I can hear the worry in Renee's voice, and I try to smooth it over, saying it's no big deal and that a lot of people go to counselling to make their relationships better.

Two days later, we are driving to the counsellor's office. The silence in the car is thick, making me nauseous with worry.

_Maybe this was a bad idea after all._

All the things that worried me about going to therapy surface, and I can't escape the feeling that I'm heading straight to my own ruin. As we ride the elevator to Dr. Young's office on the fifth floor, Edward catches my eyes in the mirror on the elevator wall. I'm biting my lower lip furiously. His gaze is steady and calm as he reaches out, releasing my lip and stroking it gently.

"We'll be fine, Bella," he whispers and pulls me into an embrace. I breathe slowly, beating down the need to escape until that feeling is deeply buried, and I melt into his chest. I'm overwhelmed with a sense of security and the fear I felt is gone. He is right, we'll be fine.

Dr. Young is exactly as I imagined. She has a friendly and compassionate face framed by dark hair, a soothing voice, and a humble demeanour. A scar is running along her right cheek, and I have to force myself not to look at it.

"Don't worry about my face," she says, laughing. "I know it makes people uncomfortable and I don't mind if you look at it. I got bitten by a dog a few years ago."

I feel embarrassed, apparently my efforts were noticed. I smile at her, blushing with awkwardness, and she pats my back, reassuring.

"Really, Bella, don't worry. Let's focus on you two now, shall we?"

We sit down and she once again explains how this is going to work, asking us once more if it's okay that she records this session. We agree, she starts the recording device and begins to speak.

"This is session number one, with the Cullen/Swan couple. I'm Dr. Emily Young."

She turns to us and smiles.

"With every new couple I usually start with a shorter session to get to know them and learn about their background. So why don't you tell me about you two, starting from the beginning. How did you meet?"

I stare at her. I don't know what to say at all. This is so not what I expected. I don't even know what I thought was going to happen, but talking about how we met was definitely not in my mind. Edward clears his throat, and asks me if he can go first. I nod at him, still speechless.

"Um, we met at a party… on campus. It was one of those parties that the student union held. I was there with my friends and there was some kind of dinner. Bella worked at the bar and attended the party. I noticed her the minute I arrived. She was like… the centre of the entire bar, you know? She was twirling around, working and socializing at the same time. Her smile was amazing; she had different smiles for everybody. I remember just standing there, watching her, trying to decipher those smiles and what they meant. All the guys there… they were watching her, following her every move, trying to get her attention. There was this one guy, I learned later that his name was Jacob, who got this really specific smile. It was like the sun, I'd never seen anything like it before. And I got extremely jealous. I desperately wanted that smile. I wanted her to smile like that, for me…"

His voice trails off, and I find myself breathless. We've never talked about this before, and to hear about that night from his point of view is so strange. I can't put into words how it makes me feel. I'm captivated and completely befuddled by his words.

"I didn't think she'd notice me, she had all these guys hovering around her all the time. But I kept watching her in secret, and even though I tried not to care, I couldn't help but notice that she introduced herself as single during the dinner. I, on the other hand, wasn't exactly single. Later that night, when Bella kissed me for the first time, I decided to leave my girlfriend. That relationship wasn't even about love, so it wasn't a hard decision to make."

"Okay," Emily says. "What happened that made you realize that Bella had noticed you?"

"Well, there was this game where you were supposed to throw bottle tops in glasses. She threw one at me and I threw it back at her. Before I knew it, I threw the bottle top into her cleavage. Then she dragged me to the bar by my tie, and I was lost. When she kissed me, I thought I had died and gone to heaven. Since then, there has been no one else for me."

Edward looks at me, with a sad smile on his face, and whispers:

"I got that smile of hers, and that's all I'll ever need."

I look at my hands, they seem oddly distant. I notice they are trembling. I shake my head trying to clear my thoughts. From far away I hear Emily's voice and I lift my eyes.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" My voice has a strange tone; it feels like I'm hearing myself from outside of my body.

"Bella, what would you say about when you first met? What was it that made you fall in love with Edward?"

I'm having the most peculiar out of body experience, and I watch myself from above as I answer her questions.

"Um… I remember that night, too. I was… I noticed him during the dinner. He was really cute when he introduced himself, all stumbly and awkward. He had a girlfriend, but I wasn't the kind of girl who cared about that. I was a bit of a slut, really... I decided that I would get him, and by the end of the night I did. There was something different about him, and for some reason I wished he'd call me. The thing that made me fall in love with him was… I think it was the sense of security I got from him. He didn't look at me the same way as other guys did. I loved how he made me feel, I felt like a person again, like I had value. I liked myself with him. And he had the most beautiful eyes I'd ever seen."

"Wait, what? You didn't feel you had any value? And why the hell did you call yourself a slut?"

Edward's voice is dragging me back to reality, I feel my conscience returning to my body and settling into my brain.

_What did I just say?_

"What?" I look from Edward to Emily, dumbfounded. They are both watching me, Emily with patience, Edward with… fear? Or is it anger?

Emily smiles reassuringly at me.

"Edward was asking you why you felt like you had no value, and why you called yourself a slut. I'm kind of interested in knowing that, too."

_Shit. I can't talk about this in front__ of Edward. Not going to happen._ _I certainly don't feel good about going into this with him listening. I don't want him to know about that part of my life. Not now._

"Eh… I'd rather not talk about that…" I whisper.

Emily watches me silently for a few seconds, and nods.

"That's okay, Bella. I have another question for you. I noticed you don't share the same last name. Can you tell me why?"

I close my eyes and smile in relief as our conversation moves on. The subject of my previous sluttiness has been averted for the time being. I listen to Emily and Edward talking about marriage and last names, and chime in when I have something to say. I feel more and more comfortable talking in this room and Emily is encouraging in a soft and supportive way. I'm actually looking forward to coming back.

I sit quietly in the car on our way home. Hearing Edward talk about the love he feels for me and our marriage was intense. I haven't thought about the night we met for a long time, and it brought back memories and feelings that have been long forgotten. I look at him and see the man I fell in love with. I'm seeing him for the first time, all over again; his green eyes, tousled hair, the soft hair on his arms, his long slender fingers... My chest is swelling, and I recognize the sensation. I smile.

_This is love._


	19. Feelings and Fusing Fantasies

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just borrowed the names. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without written authorization. ©2010 SwedenSara. All rights reserved worldwide.**

**Thank you JillM12 and Netracullen, my awesome and super quick betas! Oh, and don't forget to check out the new fic I'm writing with JillM12 and Netracullen: Smutiversity http: / / www . fanfiction . net /s/6034948/1/Smutiversity**

**My entry for the Bree Tanner contest was accepted, and I'm thrilled to be in the company of such great authors. Check out all the entries on http: / / sites. google. com/site/projectteambeta1/challenges-awards and vote for your favourite. Oh, and don't forget to delete the spaces in the adress...**

* * *

_**Feelings and Fusing Fantasies**_

My heart is pounding rapidly as we return home from Dr. Young's office. The counselling brought emotions to the surface that I don't recall experiencing for a long time. I feel my cheeks heat, and I'm not sure if it's out of embarrassment for not acknowledging my feelings for so long, or if it's simply because I just now rediscovered the beauty of the man sitting beside me. My stomach is filled with fluttering butterflies and my head is spinning. He parks the car and turns the ignition off. I feel giddy and scared at the same time, and I don't know how to act, what to say.

Then he touches me.

He slowly strokes my knuckles, and my breath hitches. His touch lingers on my skin, leaving my nerve endings burning and wanting more. I turn my hand and grasp his, holding it tightly. The mixture of feelings rushing through my body is bewildering. I feel the fear I'm used to, the panic and the discomfort, but it is diluted and blended with something else, something sweet, safe and pleasant. I want him to touch me again.

We sit in the car holding hands. I stare out the windshield, afraid to look at him. His thumb is massaging my palm, making slow circles with a firm pressure. My racing heart is slowly settling for a calmer pace, and the uneasiness is dissolving into pleasure and affection. I concentrate on the feel of his slightly rough fingers against my skin. The sensation grounds me and gives me a feeling of purpose and meaning, of being important to someone.

It gives me a feeling of being loved, and it is amazing.

My eyes are dimmed by tears and a sob escapes my constricted chest. Edward turns to me, taking my face in his hands.

"Hey… why are you crying?" His loving whispers caress my ears, causing my tears to flow over. I sniffle and close my eyes.

"I'm sorry. I don't know. It's just… It was intense, the session I mean, and it made me feel a lot. It's all mixed up, it's confusing and I can't figure myself out." I shake my head, trying to explain things I don't fully understand.

"It'll be okay, Bella. I feel sort of strange, as well. It's hard when someone asks all these questions, and forces you to think about it, to come up with an answer. Some of the things we talked about… I hadn't even realized how they bother me, and how I react to them. And I hadn't thought much about how that affects you, either." He wipes away a tear that is slowly trickling down my cheek.

"Yeah… I know I do things that affect you as well, and I'm sorry for that," I answer.

I lean my head against his chest. I feel ashamed for putting him through this, for not being well, for not being the perfect wife for him. I loathe myself for being a selfish whiny bitch, for not appreciating him enough, for feeling sad and lonely even though I have a beautiful family that loves me. I don't have the right to be unhappy. There are a lot of people in far worse situations than me, and here I am, with a seemingly perfect life including house, job, husband and children, and I feel sad.

_What is wrong with me?_

"I know you're sorry, honey. But you don't have to be. You've done nothing wrong. You can't help how you feel." He wraps his arms around me and holds me tight.

I let myself give in to his comforting embrace and relax. I don't fully believe his words, but I don't have the energy to wonder about it anymore. There are still things I need to talk to him about, but I need time to think and come to terms with what I want.

"Can we order some food? I don't feel like making dinner." I finger the hem on his shirt, waiting for a response.

He smiles at me and brings out the phone.

"Indian or Thai?" he asks.

I shrug, tell him I don't really know what I want, and ask him to make a decision. He wrinkles his forehead, and I can sense his discomfort with having to choose. I smile reassuringly and tell him that anything he settles for will be fine. I just want to sit back and relax, and have someone else taking the helm for a while.

We exit the car and head for the front door. The house feels silent and deserted, and it's an odd feeling being here alone, without the kids. I wander through the empty rooms, looking at the toys scattered about on the floor. I know I should probably pick them up, and even though I feel bad for choosing to leave them lying around, it's strangely relieving at the same time.

When our food arrives we curl up on the couch with our take-out boxes and a bottle of wine.

"Wow… this feels like old times, Bella! Remember we used to do this before the kids were born?" Edward smiles, with noodles from his Pad Thai hanging from the corner of his mouth. I laugh at him and he sucks it in with a slurping sound.

"Yeah… Can you imagine doing this with the kids around? Kate would tell us off for eating in the living room, and Benji would drive his toy cars on the table and knock the wine glasses over. That is abuse of alcohol. We can't have that, can we?" I snicker.

The conversation floats easily between different ordinary everyday topics, and bit by bit we slide closer to each other. I suddenly find myself lying with my head in his lap, our fingers intertwined. The atmosphere in the room is changing, and as our talk turns to deeper and more emotional issues, our voices lower. We haven't talked like this for a very long time, and it feels good.

I pick at the soft curly hair on his forearm. I have things I need to tell him, things that have been floating my mind for a while.

"Hey, Edward? I'm sorry for reacting the way I did to those pictures … I feel horrible for doing that. I mean, they really freaked me out, but if I was the one telling you about my fantasies, and you were mad at me, I'd feel pretty bad."

"Oh… That's okay. You got scared, I can understand that. And to be fair, I haven't exactly been honest with you about it. I need to apologize to you, too," he answers quietly.

"We really suck at talking to each other, don't we?" I sigh, annoyed with myself and my part in this non communicative marriage.

"I guess so. We didn't before, though. I wonder when that changed…" His voice trails off, and I can tell his mind is somewhere else by the way he's staring into space. My thoughts start to drift, and he startles me when he speaks again.

"Do you want me to delete all the pictures you saw? I can do that if you want me to."

_Oh. He'd do that for me?_

I can't let him. It wouldn't be fair. If this is important, then maybe we can find a way to compromise. I clear my throat and turn to him.

"You know, I've been thinking about those pictures for a while. And I thought that maybe we could go over them together, and I can tell you which ones make me feel really bad? And then maybe there are some that I think I can deal with, and you can keep them?"

"Really? And it's okay with you?" The surprise in his face makes me smile.

"I think so. Maybe if I know that some of them aren't there anymore it'll be easier. Also, I feel bad depriving you of your fantasy. You wouldn't do that to me," I respond.

"I hope not… Do you have fantasies?" he asks curiously.

"Duh, of course I do." I snicker at him

"So… will you tell me?" He wiggles his eyebrows at me and I roll my eyes at him.

"Uhm, maybe… So, those pictures?" I get up from the couch and watch him expectantly.

"Ha! You're changing subjects. And you're blushing. I'm on to you, baby…" He shakes his head as he walks over to the computer and fires it up. I feel my heart rate increase slightly and I take a few deep breaths to calm it down.

_I can do this._

He opens the folder and hesitates.

"You know, there are some pictures in here that I don't particularly like either. I just haven't gotten around to deleting them. Usually I just skip them," he states. He sounds a bit worried, and I feel a need to make it easier for him.

"Maybe you can tell me first which ones you don't like, and then I can tell you if there are some pictures left that I don't like?"

He relaxes and nods in agreement, changes the settings in the folder to show picture thumbnails, and starts to select a number of files. I immediately notice that the ones he has chosen are worst ones, the ones that seems the most violent to me. There are cages and strange devices, women hanging in weird positions, and one showing a woman with what appears to be a plastic bag over her head. I shudder and feel the bile rise in my throat. The feeling when Edward presses the delete button us pure relief.

_They are gone now._

It's time for me to do my selection. I want to see the full screen pictures, because the thumbnails make it difficult to make out all the details. Edward opens the first picture, and we go over them, piece by piece. Some makes me hesitant, and I tell him to keep them for now. We can always go back and look at it again later. Edward deletes every picture that makes me uncomfortable, and in the end we are left with a bunch of images that I, after a few viewings, feel comfortable with. They have some elements of force, of domination, but they don't seem violent and abusive.

"Hmmm… Do you notice that there is a common theme to the pictures we decided to keep?" Edward asks in a low voice.

I look at them again and raise my eyebrows in surprise. The ones I agreed to save, they show things I still feel uncomfortable thinking about actually doing.

_This is weird… I left a lot __of the bondage ones. And I feel okay watching them, too. Maybe… maybe they aren't so bad after all?_

Edward closes the folder and turns the computer off.

"Thanks for doing this for me, Bella. I really appreciate it. Although I am a bit surprised… I didn't think you'd leave this many pictures."

"Well, I didn't think you'd choose to delete that much on your own. I guess we did good, compromising like this!"

I stifle a yawn and rub my face. This has been an emotionally exhausting day, and I'm tired and worn out. My head is swimming with thoughts, questions and pictures of tied up women, and I don't know what to make of it all.

Edward takes my hand and leads me to our bed, gently taking my clothes off and laying me down on the sheets. His hands rub my tense shoulders and my body relaxes.

I turn to him and motion for him to join me. He strips out of his clothes and lies down next to me. His fingers trail small patterns on my arms and the touch doesn't feel uncomfortable at all. I close my eyes and sigh.

"Can I ask you a question?" Edward's voice lingers in the air a few seconds before I nod in consent.

"You said you have fantasies, too. It made me wonder what they are. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," he says.

I bury my face in my hands, embarrassed by the prospect of telling him. What if he thinks I'm weird, a freak? Maybe he finds the idea repulsing? Maybe he feels jealous?

I swallow audibly before I answer.

"I'm a bit embarrassed by this… You'll think I'm weird. Promise you won't laugh, or be mad or something?"

"Of course I won't."

"Well, I've always fantasized about being with another woman…" My voice trails off and I wait for his response.

He lets out the breath he's been holding, and lays quiet for a while before he speaks.

"But that's not weird. It's kind of hot actually. I mean, that is like every mans fantasy. Is there a particular woman that you're thinking of?

I feel strengthened and encouraged by his words and the fact that he seems to be okay with it.

"No, no one. It's not like I dream about a friend or an actress or something like that. It's not someone I've actually seen in real life. It's just imaginary girls. I would probably never dare to do it for real, but I'm fascinated by it and I think women are beautiful. I like breasts."

"So do I… I guess that's one thing we have in common, then!" He chuckles at me.

I smile back at him and yawn again.

_I guess so._

We lie in silence for a while, both deep in thoughts. Bits and pieces of our counselling session mingle with images of beautiful women, ropes and blindfolds. My eyelids are getting heavier, and the soft feel of his fingers caressing my arm is soothing, almost hypnotizing. I doze off to the sounds of his breathing, and drift into a deep sleep filled with vivid dreams.

_I'm sitting on what seems to be a simple wooden chair, without armrests. I'm naked, and the hard__ material of the chair is cold against my skin. I'm blindfolded, with my hands tightly tied behind my back. The ropes feel thick and soft, almost silky. My ankles are firmly secured to the legs of the chair, forcing my legs apart._

_The chilly air in the room is giving me goose bumps, and my chest is rising and falling as I breathe heavily. I'm not afraid, but feel slightly anxious, not knowing what to expect. Suddenly I hear the familiar squeak of a door being opened. A gentle gust of air is caressing my skin, and I recognize the soft sound of bare feet padding towards me across the floor. A faint scent of honey reaches my nostrils: it is a feminine fragrance, and it reminds me of breakfast outside on a warm summer day. The roses that are climbing the fence surrounding the patio smell just like this._

_Someone is lightly touching my shoulders, as if to let me know I'm not alone anymore. I feel full lips gently trailing my neck, and long strands of soft hair flowing down acro__ss my breasts. I moan as the lips make small kisses on my back, from one shoulder to the other, and I inhale sharply as teeth are grazing my skin._

_I feel the heat emanating from the other body in the room. I know the person has moved; the air around me is slightly disturbed. The scent of honey is getting stronger, and I realize that this someone is standing closely in front of me. Suddenly I feel the soft swell of full breasts against my cheeks. The feminine scent, the soft lips and the long soft strands of hair suddenly make sense - it all belongs to another woman. _

_I feel my nipples __tighten, and a tingling sensation is spreading between my legs. My imagination runs wild with images of this woman, and my mind is filled with rounded hips, soft brown hair, inviting lips and swelling breasts with delicious peaks. I feel an instant shot of desire as the woman's puckered nipple brushes against my parted lips. I open my mouth and dart my tongue out, eager to taste the skin, but she quickly moves away, just out of reach, and kisses my neck again while slowly caressing my back._

_Her soft hands are slowly massaging my shoulders, and as I relax she slides her hands down my chest, running her fingers along my collarbones before lightly cupping my breasts. I whimper when her thumb almost grazes my nipple, and I hear her giggle softly at my response. I part my knees further and flex my hips up, searching desperately for something to release some of the sweet tension that is growing inside of me. I feel the heavy pulsing of blood filling my wet folds, making them even more sensitive and causing my swollen clitoris to throb. I want her to touch me so desperately, but I'm unable to move, and words are failing me. I moan quietly while my head tilts backwards, exposing my throat._

_I feel her tongue trailing along my neck, from below my ear all the way to my collarbone. I gasp as she blows gently on my skin, causing a chilling sensation along the wet trail. Her hair is falling over my shoulder, and I feel the strands tickling my belly. I hear her move before I feel her hands gripping my knees firmly, pushing them apart, and opening me up to her. She grabs my hips and pulls me forward, making my bottom rest on the edge of__ the chair. Her hot breath flows against my wet folds and aching entrance, sending shivers through my body._

_When her tongue swiftly flicks over my sensitive clitoris, my entire body jolts with pleasure. I feel her fingers slowly entering me, curling slightly upwards and massaging that sweet spot inside. The ropes are straining at my hands and feet as I try to move closer to her mouth. The feeling of constraint mixed with her mouth gently sucking my erect bud and licking my soft lips, is finally giving me the release I need. I fall apart in a convulsing and ecstatic orgasm._

I shoot up in bed, frantically trying to figure out where I am. The room is dark and I search for something familiar with my hands. My heart's fierce beating slows down when I feel the familiar shape of Edward's body under the sheets, and I lean back against the pillows. As I calm down, elements of the dream surfaces, and I am suddenly almost painfully aware of the throbbing sensation between my thighs.

_Oh. My. God. I nearly had an orgasm in my sleep... And it was while dreaming about being tied to a chair. __What is happening?_

I try to make sense of the dream and the way my body is reacting to it, but all my thoughts are being outrun by the intense need I feel. I'm desperate to get release, and I slide up to Edward's warm body. My hands roam his chest, and I press myself against his bare thigh.

"Please wake up, Edward... Please..." I moan into his ear, and I hear the change in his breathing as he wakes up. He turns to me slowly.

"Bella, are you sure?" His voice is hesistant, and I touch his face and nod.

"Yes." I whisper.

Suddenly I'm on my back again, with Edward hovering above me. Our eyes lock, and he lowers his face to mine, kissing me gently. I need him in the way I once used to, and his closeness doesn't frighten me anymore. It makes me want to have him even closer. The realization makes me tremble with hope, relief and happiness.

I slide my hands down his back and over his ass before pressing him against me. He lets out a low growl and buries his face into my neck before slowly pushing himself deep inside of me, filling me entirely. We move together in silence and wonder, holding on to eachother tightly.

We reach the peak together, as one, with silent tears of joy streaming down our faces.


	20. Therapy Transcript and Thoughts

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just borrowed the names. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without written authorization. ©2010 SwedenSara. All rights reserved worldwide.**

**I'm sorry I've kept you waiting. Updates will be slower for the next few chapters, but then again, there aren't that many left when I think of it... Next chapter will adress the love-making in last chapter - they finally did it! It's a bit emotional though, so I need some more time to write it. Also, I'm currently writing on four different fics, and I have trouble switching between them. In addition to this story I'm writing a contest entry for InThePale contest, which will be posted within a month. That is an incredibly personal piece, and very important to me. I'm also writing a one shot for PTB Smut University's Back To School fundraiser. Last, but certainly not least, I have the fantastic Smutiversity collaboration: http: / / www . fanfiction . net /s/6034948/1/Smutiversity**

**Thank you JillM12 and Netracullen, my awesome and super quick betas! **

_**

* * *

**_

_**Therapy Transcript and Thoughts**_

**Therapy session no 2 Cullen/Swan couple. Transcript and **_**/notes/ **_**by Dr Emily Young**

Emily: So, welcome back! How have you been since last time?

Bella: Um, good, I guess…

Edward: Yeah. It was interesting last time. _/Clears his voice/_

_/KEY: EY=me, BS=Bella, EC=Edward/_

EY: Last time we met we talked about how your relationship began, how the two of you met, and what made you fall in love. We also talked about why you feel you need my help, where you want this marriage to go from now, and what you would like for the future. Any thoughts on what you learned about each other last session?

_/Bella fiddles nervously with a package of tissues, peeks at Edward/_

EC: It was interesting talking about how we met… I haven't thought about it in a long time, and I don't think we've ever discussed it like that, you know. It was interesting to hear about Bella's view of the entire thing, what she thought.

EY: Bella?

BS: Um… _/takes a deep breath/_ I kind of had forgotten about why I fell in love with him. I don't think about it that often, and it was good to be reminded of that, and to be forced to remember why we chose each other. And I agree with Edward, too, about talking about how we met.

EY: Anything else you want to bring up?

EC: Yeah… You know when you asked about our last names? I had never really thought about how I feel about Bella not changing her last name when we got married. It's probably stupid, and I sound like a caveman, but the fact that she kept her maiden name somehow makes me feel that she is not entirely mine. It was kind of a revelation to me.

BS: Yes, that was interesting. I never thought about it like that, that it can be interpreted in that way. The reason for it was not that I didn't want to belong to Edward, it was more like "why should I be the one to change my name just because I'm the woman? I'm not gonna do that!" It doesn't mean that much to me, and if I knew how he felt about it I might have changed it.

_/Bella makes quotation marks in the air when she says the word 'belong'/_

EY: Okay, then. Anything else?

_/Both shake their heads/_

EY: Okay. I have another question for you both. Last session you told me a lot about this relationship, but we haven't talked about your previous ones. Edward, can you tell me about the relationships you had prior to Bella?

EC: Well, there's not much to say, really. I had a girlfriend, Tanya, and we'd known each other for a long time. Childhood friends and all that. It wasn't real, though, if you know what I mean. We just ended up together because we hung out a lot. And then I met Bella. That's pretty much it. My relationship history isn't that exciting.

_/Bella is quiet/_

EY: Bella, did you have any relationships before you met Edward?

_/Bella still quiet/_

EY: Bella?

BS: I'm not comfortable talking about that right now.

EY: Don't you want to talk about that with me, or don't you want to talk about it with Edward?

EC: I can leave for a while, if you want.

BS: I don't… can we talk about this another time?

EY: Sure, that's fine. We'll leave that for the time being. I've been thinking about another thing I'd like to ask both of you. Last time you both said you need my help to communicate better. In what ways do you think it is hard to communicate?

BS: I don't know… It's just… hard to get the words out there.

_/Bella hesitates/_

EY: How do you mean?

BS: Well, it's not like I'm afraid of him or something, but I'm sometimes worried that he'll get angry, and then I don't say anything at all, you know. It's silly…

_/Edward pulls his fingers through his hair. Seems nervous/_

EC: I… I know I have a problem with my temper. I lash out at little things, get mad at her and the kids, or even inanimate objects, like a fork or a cupboard that doesn't do what I want it to. I know it affects her, because we've talked about it before and she's told me she doesn't like when I'm mad. But I didn't realize I'm actually making her quiet.

EY: Bella, can you tell me more about how you feel when Edward is angry?

BS: I'm really sensitive about people's emotional state, and when he is in a bad mood… It gets to me. I don't know how to explain it. You know how snails react when you touch their antennae? They retract, pull their antennae in. If you touch them again, they eventually retract all the way into their shells. That's how I feel when Edward is angry. I want to hide. But when he's mad at the kids… I really hate that. I want to scream, to hit him. I don't do it, though. I keep it inside, or try to smooth things over.

EC: I'm sorry… _/whispers/_

BS: Well, to be fair you have been much calmer lately. I mean, I don't blame you for being mad; it's probably my fault anyway.

_/Bella talks very quiet and looks at her hands/_

EY: What do you mean when you say it is your fault?

BS: Well, let's just say I'm not the best wife there is…

EC: That's just… stupid, Bella! Do you think I'd even be here if I thought that? Why do you say that about yourself?

BS: Because it's true! I didn't want have sex with you; I could hardly bear you touching me! If that's not a bad wife, then I don't know what is.

EY: Edward, you don't seem to agree with Bella?

EC: No, I don't. I think she is a great wife. Okay, so we didn't have sex for… a while, but I don't care! Besides, we had sex after the last session, and that was awesome. Sex isn't the correct expression, though. We made love. For me, that was the best we've ever had. But as long as she's uncomfortable with sex, I don't want it anyway. I don't want it if she doesn't want it. Okay, I really wish that she would want it, you know, and that's partly why we're here, but I don't think that being a good wife is only about sex.

_/Edward is getting worked up, his frustration is clearly showing. Bella is shrinking, apparently trying to make herself smaller in her seat/_

EY: Does this make you angry, Edward?

_/Edward looks at me, then at Bella, notices her being curled up in her seat/_

EC: Oh… I'm sorry, Bella, I'm… Yes, it makes me angry. But I'm not mad at Bella, I'm more like… mad at myself, for letting her believe that, you know?

EY: Explain this to me.

EC: Well, she's always taken care of the house, the cleaning, making dinner, taking care of the kids… She's done almost everything at home, actually. I haven't been very helpful, I've left all of that to her and I know it's been too much for her to handle. Above all that, I've acted like an ass, being mad all the time. So if she thinks she's a bad wife, well, I've been a crappy husband, too. I don't blame her for not wanting to have sex with me. I've done nothing for her.

EY: Bella, what do you feel about this?

BS: I don't think he's a bad husband… Why would he want to help me anyway? _/wipes tears from her eyes/_

EY: What do you mean by that, Bella?

BS: Well, it's about giving and getting in return, basically. If I don't give him what he needs, why would I get something from him?

EC: But Bella, the things you do for me, that's not because you want something from me in return, right?

BS: No… I do things because I want to, and there are also some things I _want_ to do for you to make you happy.

EC: It's the same for me. I want to do things for you, because I love you and I want you to be happy.

EY: It seems to me that you both believe that you are the bad spouse in this marriage, but apparently neither of you think the other one is bad. Am I correct?

BS: Yeah… I guess…

_/Edward nods/_

EY: I see. It also seems like you are both putting a lot of guilt on yourselves. I think we need to address this more later, and I'd like you to think about this until next session. Now, Bella, I have a question for you. You mentioned earlier that you have issues with Edward touching you. Can you explain that to me?

BS: Basically, I kind of panic. When he touches me, or sometimes even when I think he's going to touch me, I get this weird reaction in my body. I tense up, and it gets hard to breath, and my heart pounds faster. I just want to flee, you know. Sometimes I actually do, I run into the bathroom or whatever. Most of the time I just recoil, and cringe.

EY: How do you think that makes Edward feel?

BS: I think it makes him feel… rejected. _/whispers/_

EY: Edward, doo you recognize what Bella is talking about?

EC: Yes, I do. But I have to say that she has been trying really hard lately, and even though I used to think she didn't want me anymore, I don't believe that now. I think that she wants to want me, but doesn't know how to get past this anxiety thing.

EY: It's interesting that you mention this as being about anxiety. I think it may very well be such a thing she is dealing with, based on the description she gave. Have you talked about this before?

BS: We have, I _think_ we have, right? _/Turns to Edward, inquisitive/_

EC: Yes, remember when we joked about the exposure therapy? That's when.

EY: So Edward, this way she feels, it's not news for you, then. How long has it been like this?

B: I think… it began when our first child, Kate, was a few months old. So that makes it… about five years or so.

E: Yes, pretty much. Then it got better for a short while, after we managed to produce Benji. But soon after he was born it kind of went down the drain again.

EY: And what do you think about that?

BS: I don't know… Well, we tried after Benji was born, but it hurt like hell so I didn't want to try it again. And I know this is going to sound weird, but… You know how it is with babies - and kids too as a matter of fact. They are constantly craving attention. And that's fine because it's supposed to be like that, but I had someone attached to my body all the time. I was constantly being touched. I nursed them, I carried them around, I comforted them, and my entire being was only about being there for them. And then he came home and he wanted to touch me, and it just… it was too much for me. My body needed to rest from the touching. And I had all these things to do at home, with laundry, and dinner, and cleaning, and somehow I feel like I lost myself.

EC: We've talked about this, I didn't help out enough at home. I think I'm doing better now. But Bella, you never told me you feel like you lost yourself.

BS: I haven't thought about it before, it just came out now when I was talking. _/Bella sounds exasperated/_

EY: It is not unusual for women to feel that way when they have kids, Bella. The thing is, though, that if you don't get help, and you don't have someone to talk to about it, you can get depressed.

BS: I know… I think maybe I was, but I didn't think about it like that at the time. I just felt all these things and I couldn't sort it out, and I was tired, angry, and sad, and Edward was angry, probably sad too. I couldn't sort myself out, I felt I had to be all these women all the time and it was hard to switch between them. I still feel like that, but not as often as I used to.

EY: Tell me more about this.

BS: You know, you have all these roles to fill. Professional at work, mom with the kids, house keeper at home with the laundry, the cleaning, the food… and then I have to be a wife and a lover as well. I do the professional one incredibly well, I know I'm a good mom, and I take care of the house – well, Edward helps now - but the wife and lover part isn't something I feel I do very well.

EY: I have a question for you, Edward, about this. Would you say that Bella is an over-achiever?

EC: Oh, totally. Yes, she is.

BS: What? Why do you say that? I don't think I am. Hey, why did you ask Edward that and not me?

_/Bella leans forward in her seat/_

EY: Well, sometimes over-achievers don't think they are that way. It's not uncommon that they feel like they don't do enough, because they sometimes fail to meet their own standards. If you are an over-achiever, your standards are pretty high, and that is hard to live up to. This is, in turn, something that can cause feelings of guilt and not being good enough. The things you've been telling me kind of match that, don't you think?

BS: Yeah, maybe I do have high expectations on myself. But that's not bad, in my opinion.

EC: But Bella, you don't have to be good at everything. If you didn't do all the things you do at home, it would give me more room to be a good husband, too. You've already taken care of everything when I get home, and then there is nothing left for me to do. If you do it so well, then what can I do to contribute? Do you see what I mean?

_/Bella is quiet for a minute/_

BS: I guess you have a point, there. But I still don't think I'm an over-achiever. I just… I like to do well. I always have.

_/Bella crosses her arms and glares/_

EY: Doing well is not a bad thing. You've both done well today, but I'm sorry to say that time is up for this session. I'd like to talk to you each separately next week. Is that okay with you?

_/Both nod/_

EY: Right, then I'd like to meet you first, Bella. I feel that there are some questions I'd like to discuss further with you. What do you think?

BS: Um… yeah. I guess that would be good.

_/Bella and Edward stand up, we shake hands and make new appointments/_

_Notes:_

_/Bella: I'm concerned that she doesn't want to discuss her previous relationships. Did she have issues with touching then as well? I wonder if there is a history of abuse, or even of past depressive behaviour. Her guilt and feelings of not being good enough must stem from something. How extensive are they? She's possibly dealing with PPD considering the timeline they described, with childbirth followed by the different issues. The anxiety when being touched, I can help her with ways to cope with it. Self treatment and different techniques to calm herself can be useful. Discuss medical options if she wants it./_

_/Edward: his temper seems to have been a problem. How can I help him work on that, to have a more relaxed life? He seems to be well aware of B's issues. Can he be helpful and supportive?/_


	21. Ropes and Revelations

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just borrowed the names. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without written authorization. ©2010 SwedenSara. All rights reserved worldwide.**

**I'm sorry this took so long. I've been writing an incredibly personal piece called Vanishing, for BeyondThePale contest. It's on my profile, read and review if you are so inclined. I also wrote a oneshot for Bellabee66 - my first slash piece ever! It was hard... **

**Thanks to Netracullen and FangMom for being awesome betas - I'm so happy I have you. Thanks to my Twitter girls for encouraging me to write the lemon - you know who you are...**

* * *

_**Ropes and Revelations**_

One week has passed between our first session with Dr. Young, and the second was earlier today. The past few days have been confusing on so many levels, one being the extremely erotic dream I had after our first session and the incredible lovemaking afterwards. It has lingered in the back of my mind every day, and fractions of the dream have returned during the nights. I don't understand what it stands for, and what my reaction to it means. I've spent countless hours picking it apart. In the dream, my fears of being tied up blended with my own sexual fantasies, creating something that should be scary, but was not. I don't get why I wasn't scared.

I've been over it all time and time again, but I still don't understand. Sometimes I've felt like I'm onto something. An embryo of a thought has slowly emerged, but dispersed again before I could grasp it. I'm beyond frustrated, on the verge of angry, as we return from our second session. I know we mentioned something today that could explain things to me, but I fail to see what it was, and in what way it is important.

Edward seems to sense that I'm in a bad mood, and takes care of the kids while I slam around in the kitchen making dinner. I put the pasta in the boiling water and stare at the steam rising from the pot while the dream replays in my mind. The chair, the darkness, the woman, the restraints… I shake my head. Dreaming about being tied up wasn't scary; it was hot, which is both confusing and slightly reassuring. Maybe it meant that I shouldn't be afraid to try? I feel stuck, and I want – no, I need – to be able to move forward. After all I promised myself that I would try to give Edward some of the things he wants. Maybe the dream is here to tell me it's time?

We plan the weekend chores while we eat. I volunteer to stay at home and clean the house on Saturday, if Edward goes grocery shopping with the kids. I know that will give me some spare time alone, since I clean fast, and he's a slow shopper.

When a friend of Edward's calls after dinner and suggests a beer, I tell him to go. They haven't met in a long time, and I want some time on my own to think things through.

When the kids are put to bed and the house is quiet, I sit down by the computer. I need to prepare myself, to do some research and figure out what I might be willing to try. I sit for a while, wondering what to search for, and then I dive into it. After typing words like "bondage" and "domination", I get an endless search result. Apparently this isn't as unusual as I thought it was. I read the sites information cautiously before clicking on carefully chosen links, nervous that I'll stumble upon something I don't want to see.

A blog catches my eye, and it seems pretty harmless to me. I open it up, peeking through my eyelids, prepared to close my eyes at unwanted pictures. But there are no pictures. It's mostly text. I look at the blog info and realize it's a couple's blog. Most of the posts are from a Mr. D, and once in a while Ms. D has posted. It all seems very normal and friendly, and I quickly loose myself in their story.

Mr. D is a wordy man, and he writes about what he likes to do to Ms. D. His descriptions are detailed, and his words are soft and loving. It soon becomes evident that his only wish is to give Ms. D pleasure. That is what drives him, though he apparently enjoys it a lot himself. Even when he writes about things I haven't even considered as possibly pleasurable, he has only one thing in mind: that Ms. D will enjoy it, even though she doesn't know that yet.

He is so well aware of her body and it's reactions, what she finds arousing and not, and how her body will respond to his touch. He takes great care in planning his actions and their plays, from the build-up to the gentle aftercare. Every move he makes has a meaning, and one sole purpose: her pleasure.

His devotion to her is captivating, and his words, when he describes how beautiful and brave she is, move me deeply.

Ms. D isn't as wordy as him. Her posts are less descriptive, almost shy, but it's evident how much she enjoys playing. The love and trust she shows him is overwhelming, and I suddenly understand what Edward talked about that night, when I had discovered the pictures. _"It's all about trust, you know. And that is what I wish… that you'd trust me."_

I get it. I get why he wants that. Reading her words, her reflections on the things they do, is fascinating. I want to understand what she finds so alluring, what she means when she says she needs it as much as he does. One small line in one of the posts describing her feelings about a bondage situation sticks in my mind.

"_Being tied up, immobile and helpless isn't about being deprived of pleasure. It's about not being able to escape it."_

I stare at the screen. I have never thought about it that way.

The dream comes back to me at night, again. I wake up aroused, and as I imagine the feeling of my wrists tied to the chair, rendering me immobile, I feel the throb increasing between my thighs. I press my face into the pillow and moan quietly.

I only slumber for the rest of the night, not being able to turn off the thoughts. I'm tired when we finally get up, but resolved to do something about all this. I may not understand this dream fully, but maybe that's not necessary?

I wave goodbye to Edward and the kids as they drive off to the grocery store, and quickly clean the house before firing up the computer again. I go back to the blog and continue reading. I notice the posts are labelled with the type of play they describe, and I choose the ones labelled "Bondage". After all, that's what seems most important to Edward.

The things I read about here are a lot different from some of the things I've seen in pictures. Nothing elaborate, no weird body positions, nothing that makes me wonder how on earth it's possible for a person to even do without breaking any limbs. They even give useful tips on aftercare, what type of rope to use, and what to think about when tying the knots. Somehow it all seems pretty… safe. It doesn't feel like something to be afraid of. As I scroll down the page, an image turns up. It's not a photograph; it's a series of very simple drawings.

I click to enlarge and study it closely. It turns out to be instructions on some kind of Japanese bonding style. What's interesting about it is that although there are a lot of knots and ropes, the girl in the picture isn't fastened to something. The rope is tied around her body, with an intricate web of knots, and she is still fully mobile. The last picture even shows her fully dressed, indicating that this could be worn underneath your clothes.

My heart skips a beat when the realization hits me. This is something I could actually do! This is bondage without being immobilized.

After printing the picture I pick up the phone to text Edward. I smile to myself as I compose the message.

**Can ****you buy some rope? I've learned today that flag halyard is soft against the skin.**

I click send, and the answer comes within a minute.

**I'm coming**** home.**

I giggle to myself and hide the printed picture in our bedroom, my heart pounding hard. As I wait for Edward and the kids to come home, my previous resolve dissipates and I find myself wavering again.

The rest of the day passes in a blur. The atmosphere is tense, quivering with nervous excitement. My giddiness from when I was alone has evaporated, and I'm suddenly very nervous. None of us address the rope or the texts we exchanged earlier. We avoid looking at each other, not out of anger or resentment, but because we're unsure of how this will turn out. We both know we are either heading towards a disaster, or something really good. I can only hope it's the second.

I peek at the roll of flag halyard when Edward picks it out and hides in our bedroom, but I'm too nervous to take a closer look at it. I hear the rustle of paper as he finds the picture I printed, and I guess he is studying it intently since it takes a while for him to come back out. The knowledge of what he's been looking at makes me blush, and I busy myself in the laundry room to avoid him. I can sense he's both nervous and excited, and he's quieter than usual.

As the evening approaches we put the kids to bed, and spend some time watching TV. I'm very aware of him sitting on the opposite couch, and glance at him repeatedly. He seems in deep thought, and I don't know if I should say something to him. When the kids are sound asleep and the night has fallen, we simultaneously rise, go to the bathroom and brush our teeth, still without talking. Both of us know what's going to happen, but we don't know what to say to each other.

I stand with my back to him as he locks our bedroom door. Not knowing what to do, I just stand there and listen to him as he's undressing and preparing the flag halyard. I bite my fingernails and stare at the wall in front of me. I hear him come closer, and feel him against my body as he embraces me from behind.

He undresses me slowly, and stands behind me for a while with his arms around my body. I feel him pressing against my backside; warm, hard and velvety. He releases me and walks around me. I shift uncomfortably, not used to having someone paying that much attention to my body. I don't know where to look or what to do with my arms. It makes me feel nervous and weird, and I have to fight the urge to cover myself. Glancing at the white, glossy rope in his hands, I wonder what it will feel like. When Edward walks up in front of me and lifts his hands I hold my breath.

He gently slides a loop of the rope over my head, and I feel it against the back of my neck. It's a bit cold, but my body warms it quickly. The strands hang down in front of me, running over my naked breasts, grazing my nipples. It lies against my bare stomach and touches the curls on my sex before falling to the floor, forming two small piles by my feet.

Edward takes the ropes, ready to tie the first knot just below my collarbones. I watch his hands as they work, putting the knot in place. I feel a slight pressure against my skin, like having a pendant on a necklace resting against my chest.

He motions for me to raise my arms above my head, and I comply. I'm relieved that he's giving me something to do with my arms, and it takes the edge off some of the uneasiness I feel. I watch his hands as they continue to make a string of knots. One is right between my breasts, the next halfway to my belly button, and the last one is just above my pubic bone.

Suddenly, watching this is too much for me. I don't want him to stop, but I'm overwhelmed by the intensity of seeing his hands move over my body, feeling the texture of the rope against my skin, and the rapt attention I'm getting. I close my eyes, desperately needing to block one of my senses out. I feel his hands against my cheeks as he holds my face.

"Bella, are you okay? Do you want me to stop?" he whispers softly. I feel guilty for closing my eyes, for making him believe there's something wrong. You are supposed to look at your beloved in moments of intimacy, and instead I shut my eyes, blocking him out. I swallow and shake my head, eyes still closed.

"No, I'm fine. I'm sorry, I just… can't watch. I didn't mean to disappoint you. It's not because I don't want to see you, it's just… too much at the same time," I mumble incoherently.

Edward gently massages my shoulders. "It's okay Bella. Just promise to tell me to stop if you feel uncomfortable, okay?"

"I feel stupid standing with my eyes closed like this. I feel like I'm failing," I admit to him.

"Oh no, you couldn't possibly fail. In fact, I think you are beautiful like that. I enjoy it, and it takes the pressure off of me, too, when you're not watching what I do. I'm a bit nervous as well, you know. I think I want you to keep your eyes closed. At least until I'm done, okay?"

Again, I feel such a relief when he tells me what to do. I don't have to decide on my own, I don't have to wonder how to act or if I make the right choice.

I sigh and make myself comfortable in the safe darkness behind my closed eyelids. His hands ghost over my body, adjusting the rope. I feel it slide between my legs, pressing against my mound. The blood rushes down between my thighs, creating a sweet pulsating throb that makes me push my hips forwards in search of friction. A quiet moan escapes my lips as he parts the strands and pulls them to the sides, away from the swollen spot I need them to touch. He pulls the ropes around my legs just below my backside, and brings them back to the front.

I keep the picture in my mind and keep track of his motions as his warm hands skim my body, gently working the rope around me. Weaving the intricate web, he is encircling my body and securing it, and it gives me the feeling of being inside a harness. With the straining rope and the knots pressed against my skin, I realize I feel not incapacitated or trapped, but held together and safe. He is tying me an armour, to protect me from the world and keep me from falling apart.

As he secures the final knot and steps back, I hear him gasp.

"God, you're beautiful," he murmurs. "Open your eyes, Bella. Look at yourself."

I peek through my eyelids. The soft glow of the bed lamps fills the room with a golden light. Edward's eyes are filled with admiration and love, and I look down on my body.

He is right. It is beautiful.

He leads me to the bed and holds my hand as I climb up on it. The strain of the ropes elicits a sweet tingling sensation, and I move a little extra just to feel it tighten around my body. He lays me down on my back and sits beside me. I suddenly feel very self-conscious again, shy and nervous. I feel a blush creeping over my chest, and I try to find some place to lay my eyes at. Once again I find I can't look at Edward, and I don't know what to do with myself.

"Close your eyes," he says, and I quickly shut them willingly, thankful that he is leading me in this.

"Do you want me to put a blindfold on you?" he asks, slightly hesitating.

I think about it. A blindfold wasn't a part my plans for tonight. I haven't prepared myself for it. But if I want to keep my eyes closed, why not? That way I won't have to wonder if I'm supposed to watch something, because I won't be able. I won't have to make any decisions about that. I'm a bit unsure about it, but I nod slowly.

"Can you make it a little bit see-through, so I'm not completely blind?" I ask him.

"Of course," he answers, and I hear him rustle around in my closet. I know what he's looking for even before he finds it, and I recognize the feel of the soft fabric as he touches my cheek with it. It's a thin, dark blue scarf, and I know that even if he folds it a few times, I'll still be able to see through it if I want to. A smile is playing on my lips as he puts it across my eyes, lifts my head and secures it in the back. I open my eyes, and I can easily make out his silhouette against the soft glow from the lamp in the window.

I don't need to see anymore. The knowledge that I still can is enough. I close my eyes and relax, knowing that he won't expect me to do anything that needs my vision.

"Lift your arms above your head," he whispers, and as I put them in place, I feel the rope tighten around me. I'm suddenly very aware of my body, and my skin is tingling with sensations. I take a deep breath, and the movement makes the web strain around my chest.

Edward's fingers graze the skin on both sides of the rope, following it across my breasts. The different sensations of his soft fingertips and the strain from the rope are exhilarating, and I shiver as he skims my waist. I feel him lean down over me, and I raise my chest to meet him as he blows a hot breath on my breasts. They feel slightly swollen from the pressure surrounding them, and the skin is so much more sensitive than I'm used to. Grazing my skin with his lips, he trails over my breasts, setting my skin alight. I moan as the warmth of his mouth embeds my pert nipple and I feel his tongue swirl around it.

The bed shifts as he slides between my thighs and positions himself above me. Heat is emanating from his body, and even though he is not touching me, I can feel he's close. As he lowers down, covering me with his body and cradling my face in his hands, I feel nothing but safe. I lift my arms to embrace him, but he quickly clasps them and brings them back above my head.

"Don't move your arms, Bella. I'm taking care of _you_ now. You don't have to do anything."

I lace my fingers together and slide my hands under the back of my head. Edward moves down, placing small kisses over my body. His lips skim my belly as his fingers find my nipples, teasing, stroking and pinching them lightly. Waves of pleasure rolls through my body as his lips finally graze my swollen nub, and I lift my hips to meet his eager mouth. The straining ropes combined with my sensitive skin, his teasing fingers and skilled tongue set my nerve endings on fire. I dig my fingers into the back of my head as I feel my body tense, and I reach my climax moaning his name.

When my shaking body comes to rest, my need for him to replace his soft mouth and wet tongue with something else grows. I want to feel him inside, to have him connected to me in the most basic way possible. I would have shown him my wishes by simply taking his head in my hands and pull him up to me, but with my arms above my head I can't do that. I need to voice my desire, to tell him in words. I haven't done that in a long time. I swallow deeply before I whisper my words.

"Edward… Come. I want you inside of me."

His slightly scruffy cheek rests against the sensitive skin on my thigh for a few seconds, before he slides up, hovering above me again. I tilt my head to the side, and his lips find the sensitive skin below my ear. He moans against my neck as he slowly enters me, and we move together as one; his body moulded into mine, joined together, united. His release comes quickly, and I feel him pulsating inside of me before he relaxes. His body weighs down on me, grounding me, reminding me of how satisfying closeness feels. I release my hands and put my arms around him as his breathing evens out.

Lying there, with Edward pinning me to the bed, I try to make sense of the emotions flowing through my body. I recognize some of the feelings from my dream.

There were both excitement and relief in not being able to see what went on. Being deprived of sight meant an element of surprise, and it made me focus more on my other senses. It was a relief not seeing anything, because it made me feel less insecure about myself and my appearance.

The strain of the ropes added sensitivity to my skin, making every nerve in my body buzz with pleasure. I realize I enjoyed the feeling against my skin, much like I had in my dream.

With my hands secured above my head, I didn't have to think about what to do with them, if I was supposed to touch him, and, in that case, how to do it. I didn't have to decide what to do; I could simply do as I was told. It meant Edward had no expectations on my performance.

Ultimately, it meant that I didn't have to worry about disappointing him.

My mind is reeling. This was nothing like I expected. I enjoyed being told what to do. I liked following his gentle orders. I felt safe being in the dark. Suddenly I understand what I had missed in our therapy session, the hint I failed to see earlier.

"... _the wife and lover part isn't something I feel I do very well." _

"_... maybe I do have high expectations on myself."_

I'm afraid of failing. I'm afraid of not being good enough. I'm afraid of dissappointing him. In that fear, I preferred to stay out of sex entirely, rather than to risk failing his – and my own – expectations. Being with him like this, when he tells me what to do, when he guides me and I follow, takes those fears away. It makes my insecurities unimportant, and they fade away.

Being with him like this means no decisions. No wondering what to do. No performance anxiety. No expectations.

When you take away all of that, what do you have left?

_Only pleasure__._

* * *

_**A/N These **__**pictures are the inspiration to the drawings Bella found on Mr. D's blog. Take a look if you are curious, but stay out of it if you're underage. But then you shouldn't be reading this at all, should you? Don't forget to review! I love your words.**_

_**http:/ / edjsaan1(dot)tripod(dot)com/id7(dot)html**_

_**http:/ / www(dot)jamesgmonroe(dot)com/wp-content/uploads/2010/01/kikkou-shibari-rope-bondage-how-to(dot)jpg**_


	22. Shame and Suppressed Secrets

**As always, I don't own Twilight. This story, however, is pretty much my own, so to speak. Thank you for still reading this, I'm so grateful to you all! This story reached 200 reviews a few days ago, and I apprechiate every single one so much.**

**Thank you to Netracullen and lisa89 at Project Team Beta for being awesome betas, and to FangMom for being my superfast prereader.**

* * *

_**Shame and Suppressed Secrets**_

I lie still for a while after my revelations about myself and this experience, emptying my mind and focusing entirely on my body. I listen to the rhythmic beating of my heart and feel the pulsating blood spread through my body. Edward is still lying on top of me, and as I run my hands over his back, I feel the ropes pressing against my skin. My post-orgasmic, limp legs are quivering slightly after the intense tension, feeling too heavy to move.

I listen to Edward's breaths slow down; the evenness is telling me that he's drifting off into sleep. His weight is pressing me down into the mattress, and as he sinks deeper into sleep, I suddenly tense up. He's falling asleep, and I can't move under him. A familiar feeling of panic rises in my body, starting with a prickling sensation in my scalp and spreading down my spine. I feel the anxiety creep up on me, and I try to take deep breaths, struggling to match my erratic breathing to Edward's even rhythm. As I manage to synchronize myself with him and keep my breathing steady, the panic dissolves.

"Edward?" I whisper. His eyebrows furrow, and he stirs slightly. "Edward," I repeat, louder this time. He mumbles incoherently. I sigh and think for a second before I jam my fingers into his sides. He wakes up with a jolt, jerking his head up.

His eyes are still drowsy, and he looks at me, disoriented, before clarity hits him and he realizes that he is still on top of me.

"Oh shit, Bella. I'm so sorry."

He rolls off me, sits up, and starts to untie the knots on my body with trembling fingers. As I'm released from the ropes, a pattern of red marks begins to appear on my skin. He sits back and inspects me with a concerned look on his face before leaning over, trailing the red lines with his fingers.

"Do they hurt?" he murmurs, and I hear the worry and nervousness in his voice. I look at the marks. I can sense them, feel that they are there, but not in a bad way.

"No," I answer thoughtfully. "There's this odd mixture of numbness and sensitivity. It's like some parts are slightly tender, and some are completely numb. It's not unpleasant at all, just… weird."

Edward scratches his head. The uncertain, puzzled look on his face is almost amusing.

"I didn't even think about marks…" he mumbles, his eyes still trained on the red pattern across my body. "I should have been better prepared."

"Is there anything I can do?" he asks hesitantly. "Should I rub something on it?"

I can't help but smile a little. For some reason, it's incredibly funny how he's switched from decisive and dominant to wavering and insecure. This, with him asking me what to do and wanting to know how to take care of me, is much more like the Edward I know. It's hard for me to merge those two people together. I take his hand and lace my fingers with his. He's unhappy with himself for not knowing what to do about this, and I hesitate, trying to think of the right thing to say.

"Well… I've been on emotional overload, and my body feels like a wrung-out rag," I say. "Maybe a massage would be nice. I think that would help with the marks as well, increasing the blood flow."

He lets out a breath and smiles at me.

"You think? Wait, let me get the massage oil." He jumps out of bed and stumbles over the tangled pile of rope on the floor before reaching the bedroom door. I listen to him rummaging through the bathroom cabinets, and I fight the urge to get out there and show him where it is. I have a feeling he wants to do this on his own, without me steering him in the right direction. It's quite frustrating, listening to him trying to find something that I know the exact location of, but in a way I, too, need him to find it by himself. I know it's silly, _it's only a bottle of massage oil for Christ's sake_, but in this moment it has become the symbol for something bigger than that. Somehow this bottle now stands for him taking care of me, not the other way around. It's about him doing things at home without me showing him how. It's about me letting go of the steering wheel. A bottle of oil has become my ticket to knowing I can rely on him.

_Silly._

I stare at the ceiling, chewing on my fingernails and listening intently to his muttering from the bathroom, and I relax instantly as soon as I hear his triumphant "Yes!" from across the hallway.

_Thank God._

I shake my head at myself for making such a big deal out of a bottle of massage oil.

_Over-reacting much?_

Edward slips through the door and closes it quietly before putting the bottle of oil on the bed stand. He slides into bed beside me, his weight making my body tilt slightly towards him. He is warm against my skin, and I feel nothing of the fear and anxiety that used to arise when he got close to me. I close my eyes and focus on the buzzing feeling where our bodies touch. It feels nice.

"I heard Kate mumbling. I'm afraid I woke her up," he whispers as he positions himself above my thighs, his legs on either side of my body. I shake my head.

"I don't think she's awake. She talks in her sleep. You know that."

I feel his movements as he warms the oil in his hands, and I try not to wince as he touches my chest with his palms. As soon as his hands start to move I relax, happy that I manage to stay still. He slowly massages my arms and my shoulders, releasing some of the tension from having my arms secured under my body.

"I had no idea she talks in her sleep. How did you know?" he asks. The odd feeling in the rope marks is evening out as his fingers circle over them. I snort at him, not surprised at all that he hasn't noticed. He can sleep through anything.

"I guess I don't sleep as heavily as you do. I wake up a few times every night, so I've heard her a lot," I confess.

He hums in response, still rubbing gentle circles on my chest and stomach. Lifting himself off me, he rolls me over, giving him access to the back of my body. He presses his thumbs along my spine, hitting small tense spots along the way and kneading them, forcing me to relax.

"I guess you must be tired a lot, then," he states.

"Yeah, I am." I nod slowly. He runs his fingers along my spine and leans closer.

"I'm sorry," he says.

I shake my head at him. "Sorry for what? It's not your fault I sleep lightly."

"I don't know… for sleeping, when you can't?" I feel his hands working my back, softening my muscles and relaxing my body, and I smile at his answer.

"That is so silly… I love you for it, though."

His hands still at the small of my back as my words sink in.

_Did I just say that?_

I hold my breath, baffled. I don't say "I love you" very often. In fact, I almost never say it unless he says it first, and even then I sometimes can't get the words out there. And yet, this time the words just flowed out, like water running in a small creek.

"I know you do," he says quietly, and starts stroking my back again. I sigh. This subject touches a sensitive spot for me; the guilt I feel for not showing enough love has been my constant companion for years.

"Yeah… Sorry for not telling you that often enough," I apologize. "I know you need to hear it, and I don't say it very much."

"It's okay. I mean, it's nice to hear from time to time, but it's no big deal. You tell me without words." He slides off my body and lies down besides me, one hand lingering on my back.

"Really? Because I honestly don't think I do that, either." I turn my head, meeting him face-to-face.

"I still feel it." He smiles gently. We lie still in a comfortable silence, letting our thoughts drift. I can see in his eyes that he has things on his mind, and I wait for him to speak again.

"So, this thing we just did, with the ropes… Was that okay with you?" he asks hesitantly. I think for a few seconds before answering. I'm not sure how to put into words how I feel about it – how to talk to him about it. It's clear in my mind, but saying it out loud is an entirely different thing.

"It was… surprisingly good, actually. I felt safe. I kind of liked having my arms in one place, and it was a relief not having to think or make decisions. I didn't have to wonder what to do next, and I didn't feel I had to perform or something. I'm always anxious that you're going to be disappointed, but this way I didn't have to worry. It was sort of liberating, not being in charge. Peaceful, somehow."

"That's good… Can we do it again, then?" His voice is filled with hope, and it makes me smile.

"Definitely. And I think I may be okay with having my hands tied up. I've tried that before, but felt bad about it back then. I'd like it to be loose enough that I could free myself if I needed to. Would that be okay with you?"

"Of course – this is your decision to make. You have to tell me what you're comfortable with, and I'll go with that. I wouldn't want to do anything that you didn't want me to. You have to tell me to stop if you feel something is wrong. Promise?" he pleads, his hand grasping my chin and forcing me to look at him.

"I promise," I agree. He pulls me to him and holds me close.

"So… that time you tried it before, want to tell me about it? Who was it?"

"Uh… Just someone I used to date," I murmur into his chest. "I'm sorry I haven't told you about it, but it didn't seem like something you'd want to know."

"Why? Of course I want to know these things. Did you think I'd be angry with you? I could never be angry for something you did before we met, you know. Maybe a bit jealous, but since I'm the one who actually got to marry you, I don't really care."

"No, I'm just… ashamed of it. Of some of the things I did." I sigh, and he pushes me back so that he can see my face again.

"Hey… Why do you feel ashamed? You shouldn't."

"Well, I do. And I don't really want to talk about it now, either," I mumble, looking away to avoid his eyes.

"Okay. I see now why Dr. Young wanted to talk to you about it in your next session. You should never, ever feel ashamed of yourself, Bella. I can't believe I didn't pick up on that earlier." He shakes me gently.

I want to hide my face, and I cover it up by nuzzling his neck. I hear him telling me I shouldn't feel any shame, but his words don't matter. I still do, and I realize that deep down I probably felt the same way back then. I tried not to think about it, though, and I used to laugh light-heartedly at those who tried to talk some sense into me. I always figured they were jealous, but maybe they were just looking out for me, since I obviously wasn't capable of doing that myself. In my mind, I was a free woman, and I had the right to do what I wanted with whom I wanted. Of course, I had to exploit that to the utmost.

So, yes, I'm ashamed, and I don't want Edward to know about who I was before we met. He was the first one who didn't look at me that way, the first one who saw something more. He saw someone in me that I didn't even know existed back then; he gave me an opportunity to re-invent myself. I don't want to taint his image of me by showing him what I used to be.

_A slut._

I shake my head to get rid of the thought.

_Maybe Dr. Young was right… I really do need to talk about this._

Edward reaches for the bedside lamp and puts out the light. With the darkness surrounding me and the warmth of his body making me feel safe, I push away the thoughts of what used to be. I decide that if I'm going to talk about this the next time I see Dr. Young, I might as well leave it be for now. Edward's hand is lightly touching my hip, and I drift off. Before I fall asleep, I briefly register the fact that I'm able to relax with him this close.

_I'm doing okay._

The next morning, Edward heads out for a run, giving me some time alone with the kids. I've been longing to have them both to myself, and I sit down next to Benji on the couch, opening a book he has picked from the shelf. He curls up on my lap, and as Kate slides closer to us, I start to read. I know the text by heart, and so do the kids; when I leave a word out they fill it in for me, and reading the book together becomes a game to them. When the book is finished, Kate decides she wants to see a movie, and after some discussion they agree on Wall-E.

I stay on the couch with Kate sitting next to me and Benji still on my lap. I put my arm around her small shoulders and pull her closer, and she rests her head against me. Their little bodies warm me, and I lean my head down to nuzzle Benji's hair. I lay my cheek on the top of his head and let my thoughts drift.

The woman I am now, with them and to them, and the woman I used to be, they are worlds apart. I'm not even sure who I am now, but I feel the difference. I think back to the woman I once was, and it makes me both happy and sad.

I miss the girl I used to be, but I'm also glad she's gone. When I think about her now, I don't just see the happy, carefree, sex-loving girl I always thought I was. I also see someone who made some really bad choices, trying to raise her low self-esteem. I see a girl who punished herself, time and time again, by choosing to hold on for too long to her worst choice ever. I see a girl who somewhere knew she was on the wrong path, but kept repeating to herself that she was happy. All thoughts she might have had indicating the opposite were effectively shoved away and buried deep.

It's confusing, not recognizing yourself anymore, but it's even more confusing when you realize that you don't want to go back, either. If you don't know who you are now, and the "old you" makes you sad, then what's left of your identity?

_Right now, nothing._

Maybe that's not true. I like myself more now, I have to admit. A long time ago, Edward showed me that I could be someone else, something different. I just haven't yet figured out what that is. Yes, he gave me an opportunity to re-invent myself, and maybe it's time to do that.

On the television, Wall-E is putting his hand into Eve's, and I listen to the music playing. I know the song so well, and as the lyrics run through my head, I shed a lone tear.

"It only takes a moment  
For your eyes to meet and then  
Your heart knows in a moment  
You will never be alone again

He held me for an instant  
But his arms felt safe and strong  
It only takes a moment  
To be loved a whole life long"

* * *

**A/N The song playing in Wall-E is "It only takes a moment" from the 1969 musical film "Hello, Dolly!"**


	23. Reliving and Relieving

**You know the drill, Twilight belongs to SM, etc etc. I am so happy so many of you have stayed with me during this, even though updating has been slow the last months. It feels like I have a few chapters left, but since I don't have a storyline to follow I'm not really sure. Thanks to FangMom and Netracullen for being my betas and prereaders, I love you so much.**

**

* * *

**

_**Reliving and Relieving**_

The week-end passes by in a blur, and the change in atmosphere in the house is apparent. Edward is in a much better mood, being more patient with the kids and keeping his temper in check. I try to be affectionate, practising by deliberately touching him as I pass by, or not reflexively withdrawing when he leans in for a kiss. Even though it feels odd in the beginning, it gets easier the more I do it. After a few days I don't have to consciously think about it all the time, and apart from few set-backs I manage quite well. I'm proud of myself and happy that I'll be able to tell Emily I've had some progress.

My personal appointment with Emily is Thursday afternoon. Edward is picking the kids up and preparing dinner, and I drive to her office immediately after work. I'm a bit worried about this meeting, and chew on my fingernails as I wait for her to call me in. I have a distinct feeling that she's going to ask about my past relationships today, and I have no desire at all to recap all of that. I realize the need for it, though, and scroll through my memories of faceless conquests, fuck-buddies and Jake. James emerges before my inner eye with his ice blue eyes and scornful sneer, and I quickly push the image away.

_No need to go there, yet._

The door opens, and Emily's friendly face appears.

"Hey, welcome!" she says with a smile. She steps aside and I walk past her into the room, picking the same chair I had the last time I was here and sinking down into it.

_This is it. No __turning back now._

She sits down on her chair, folds her hands in her lap and looks at me expectantly.

"Nice to see you again, Bella. How have you been since the last time we met?"

"Fine, thanks," I answer routinely, without even thinking about it, because that's what you say when someone asks that kind of question. She tilts her head to the side.

"Really? That's good to hear," she says, still smiling at me.

I laugh awkwardly, and then sigh. I know she's not going to be satisfied with this kind of conversation, but I'm not sure where she wants me to begin. I get an urge to tell her how hard I've tried this week, because for some reason I want her approval.

"Yeah… I've actually done well this week. I've tried to be nicer to Edward, not shying away from him like I used to… I even managed to have him kiss me from time to time without feeling anxious about it. It was kind of hard in the beginning, but I tried, and it got easier every time. We sort of had sex, too."

I feel myself blush at my sudden confession.

"That's nice, I'm glad to hear that it worked out for you." Her voice doesn't waver in the slightest, and I feel relieved that my inappropriately blurted-out words didn't bother her as much as they bothered me.

I clear my throat. "So, what are we going to talk about today?" I ask her.

"I don't know. You tell me." Her answer isn't what I had hoped for, and it once again places me in charge of the conversation.

I bite my lip and sit quiet for a while, wondering if my silence will eventually make her speak up instead, asking me some questions or at least telling me what she wants to know. That doesn't happen, she just waits.

I shift uncomfortably in my chair, and clear my throat again. It's not my intention to begin talking, but suddenly I feel my mouth start to move, and I hear my words filling the room, pushing away the awkward silence. It's strange, like listening to someone else, and I can't help but wonder where this conversation will take us. I feel like I have no control over what comes out of my mouth, the words just pour out.

"I had a boyfriend once. His name was Eric, and he was such a sweet guy. I loved him, well sort of anyway, but then I went to university. I met this guy, Jake, and everything else just faded away. I felt so much shame for doing that to Eric, for leaving him the way I did. I still do.

Me and Jake, we were… I can't even explain it. It felt like I didn't have a choice, the world shifted and there was no place for Eric in it anymore.

It was the same for Jake, only… he wasn't able to commit to a relationship. I knew that, but it didn't matter. So I took what I could get from Jake, thinking it would be enough being his 'friend with benefits,' but it never was. Every time I saw him leaving a party with another girl instead of me, I wanted to cry.

Jake used to ask me if our arrangement was okay, he wanted to make sure it didn't bother me. I always laughed at him and told him he was stupid: 'of course it is, it's not like you're the only man in my life,' I said. Yeah right. I don't think he ever bought that, but he needed me, too, so he chose to believe my fake assurances.

I took great care in making sure he saw that he wasn't the only man. I wanted him to see I was wanted by others; I wanted to make him jealous. I needed to feel desired, and it wasn't hard at all to find someone willing. I got such a high from it after a while, from being coveted. I could see it in their eyes, hear it in their voices, and feel it in their bodies. It almost became an addiction. Unfortunately it never was enough, and the rush quickly left afterwards. I used to dress and get home as quickly as I could, never leaving my number and hoping I'd never see them again.

Whenever I had the opportunity I went home with Jake, and it felt like being whole again. Yes, we had sex, but that wasn't the primary reason for us to hang out. It was good sex, it really was, but not overwhelming, and to be honest he wasn't that… well endowed, so to speak. The good part always came afterwards. We spent hours awake at night, curled up against each other, talking about life, love, history, science, philosophy… Everything you could think of. Once in a while he remembered a book he had read and jumped out of the bed, grabbing it from wherever it was, and read passages he particularly enjoyed out loud to me. I never wanted to leave Jake after sex. I felt like I could stay forever. He was my sun.

I was important to Jake in the same way he was important to me, I know that, but he wasn't capable of being monogamous. I had to accept that. I didn't handle it very well, though.

All the men I slept with, they all started to blur into each other. I didn't even care about their names, eventually. I think I wanted to stop doing it, but I never allowed myself to slow down. Maybe I didn't want to look at myself, to see what I'd become, but I felt it deep down. I felt like a slut, a whore. And if that's how I felt, then it wasn't that far off to really act like one, right?

Then I met James. That took me to a whole new low. At first he was the epitome of goodness and wholesomeness. He wooed me, big time. It felt nice to have someone caring for me like that. It wasn't until I was in too deep with him that I realized he had a girlfriend. He was engaged, for crying out loud! Some Victoria-woman. He left her, and of course that made me feel super special. 'He must really love me if he leaves his fiancée,' I thought. Yeah right. Maybe the fact that he cheated on a woman he was supposed to marry should have tipped me off, but noooo… He really had me fooled, you know.

I don't even know what made him chose me. Maybe he liked the challenge, to take me 'off the market' and have the girl that all the guys talked about. Maybe he just wanted to own me. In the beginning he talked a lot about how proud he was to have me, how jealous all the guys were. He called me 'sex-goddess' or 'porn-queen' and it seemed like he couldn't get enough of me. He loved to show us off, it was like he was making a statement or something.

After a while he started to act jealous, and whenever a man looked at me or approached me he turned it against me, telling me I was too flirtatious, and that I looked too 'available', whatever that meant. He made me dress down when we went out, so I wouldn't attract unwanted attention. He started to push me away in bed, telling me I was too horny and that it was a turn-off. I started to feel insecure; I didn't know how to act to make him happy. If I was too enthusiastic in bed, I was slutty. If I was too timid, I was frigid.

From that stage, it didn't take long for him to start calling me a slut, a whore. He had the proof of it, he said, because I had slept with all those men. The 'porn-queen' nickname he gave me suddenly wasn't a positive one at all.

I let all of that happen. I allowed him to do that, to say that to me. After all, everything he said to me resonated with how I felt inside. He was right, and I deserved it.

It took some time for me to get out of the relationship with James. He had this peculiar way of hauling me back in when he felt he was losing me. I never knew what to expect. He would call me a whore and tell me to fuck off, that he never wanted to see my ugly face again. I would spend a few days at home, crying, calling him and trying to get him back. After a while I'd stop calling, coming to terms with being alone. And after a few days of me not calling him, he'd suddenly be outside my door like nothing had happened.

When I asked him why he was there, he'd simply say 'I'm visiting my girlfriend. What's wrong with that?' If I protested and reminded him that he broke up with me a few days earlier, he'd simply shake his head and call it nonsense. 'Of course I didn't mean what I said, you know that darling. I want you. You are the future mother of my children,' he'd say, and I'd take him back. Silly me.

I left James, eventually. One night, a couple of months after he'd cheated on me with his ex-fiancée Victoria, he told me he wanted us to take a break during summer, and then get back together when terms began. I guess he didn't want the burden of a girlfriend when the streets and beaches were filled with young, pretty female tourists. I have no idea how it happened, but somehow I stood up, got dressed, and left his apartment. I didn't even say a word. He never called me again, and I never called him.

Then I met Edward."

Emily sits quiet for a while as I finally stop speaking. I realize then she hasn't said a word the entire time. Whenever I stopped talking to breathe or think, she just waited me out. I lean back in the chair, slightly taken aback by my rant. A wave of weariness rolls over me, and I suddenly feel exhausted.

I rub my eyes and yawn, and she leans over to me and pats my leg.

"You did good, sweetie. I'm very glad you told me this, and I can see why you didn't want to talk about this when Edward was here. How much does he know?" she asks gently.

"He knows some, enough to really detest James," I answer. "I haven't told him the entire story though and certainly not the part with all the men. I don't want him to think less of me."

She nods thoughtfully.

"I think we may have some clues to how you feel about closeness in your past relationships, Bella. How do you think these experiences have affected you during the depression you suffered after childbirth?"

I close my eyes and think back, searching for similarities between now and then. The circumstances are worlds apart, but despite that the feelings are quite the same.

_They shouldn't be. _

"I think that… it may have brought out some of my old feelings and insecurities."

I press my palms against my cheeks and sigh. I've tried so hard to escape my past, and James. I've tried so hard to not think about how I used to be, or about him. A flash of anger surges through my body. How is it possible that, after all these years apart, he still manages to make me feel small and insecure? How is it possible that it still messes with my life? It is not fair. I don't want it to rule my life, or _ruin_ my life, for that matter.

_I won't let it._

Driving home from Emily's office, I make a pledge to myself. I'm going to try to make love to Edward, to show him how I feel about him. He saved me, and he doesn't even know it.

My resolve wavers a bit as I enter the house. Dinner is ready to be served, and Edward sets the table while the kids hug and kiss me. Edward doesn't ask much about my appointment with Emily, so I just tell him it went well and that I had a lot of things to talk about. He seems worried that I talked about him, and he relaxes as I let him know I mainly spoke about my life before we met.

I grow increasingly tense during dinner, but still manage to make small talk and keep up appearances. I keep thinking about the promise I made to myself, and wonder how I'll bring it up. Should I seduce him later? In that case, how do I do that? Should I just tell him I want to take him to bed? That doesn't sound very romantic. Should I just wait for him to join me, and slide closer to him? If so, how should I touch him? When the kids are sound asleep, Edward comes to my rescue by asking me to join him in the shower.

_That should give me the opportunity I need._

I get into the shower after Edward, still unsure how to act and what to do. We step around each other while shampooing and lathering, and before I've gained enough courage to touch him the water runs cold and we hurry out. I towel myself dry with my back to him, my cheeks flaming red with disappointment. He disappears into our bedroom as I blow-dry my hair, and I rub my body and face with lotion a little longer than I really need. When it's apparent that I can't stall it any longer, I hang my towel up to dry and leave the bathroom.

Edward is sitting naked at the edge of the bed, his head turned away from me. I hesitate a few seconds before I walk up to him. He takes my hand and pulls me closer before letting me go again. I cover my naked chest with my arms as I stand before him, my hands folded together and tucked under my chin. I stare at my feet and see his form in the periphery of my vision – his knees on both sides of my bare legs, his thighs and his groin.

I close my eyes, trying to avoid accidentally looking at him _there_. I feel his hands slide up along the outside of my legs, and I tense as they ghost over my thighs and come to rest at my hips. His eyes seek mine, searching for a reaction, a sign of appreciation, _something_. Knowing I should look at him and meet his eyes, giving him a sweet, seductive or loving smile, I open my eyes. But I fail to give him that. As I try to look at him, to really _see_ him, my eyes bounce off like the north pole of a magnet to another, going from the walls, the ceiling, the window, anywhere but to him.

Trying to make up for the lack of eye contact I concentrate hard on trying to find a way to move the facial muscles into something resembling a smile. But I can't produce anything. My face remains blank and my eyes drift the room as his hands continue their exploration, and I scream inside at my inability to show him the affection he deserves. This is my husband, showing me how he loves me. I should be able to accept that gift and return it, but I don't know how.

I've not only forgotten how to show love, but also how to make love. I feel like an insecure virgin again, not knowing what to do or how to act, afraid to do something wrong.

Swallowing hard I will my hands to loosen their grip and fall down to the sides, exposing my chest. I keep my eyes locked on the wall behind the bed as I place my hands on his shoulders, letting them rest there for a minute, connecting the nerve ends in my skin to my brain. His body is warm, his skin slightly damp after the shower. My fingers start to wander, uncertain and hesitant, not really sure how to touch him.

_I used to be good at this. _

I remember the beginning of _us_, how I used to tear my shirt off, impatient for his hands on my skin and his mouth at my breasts.

I remember his hands pushing inside of my pants, and me spreading my thighs, allowing him in.

I remember being warm and wet for him, pushing my hips against him, grinding into his hand and welcoming is fingers as they slid inside.

I remember all of that, and I think I still have it somewhere inside of me, but I can't seem to bring it to surface again.

He pulls me closer, kissing my hips before putting his arms around me and resting his cheek against my stomach. His scruff tickles my skin, prickly in a way that is both comforting and annoying at the same time. Confident that he's not watching me anymore, I bow my head and look at him, his ruffled hair and my hands on his shoulders. I slide my arms around him, holding him close. I feel the heave in his body as he exhales slowly, ending his breath with a content hum. He closes his thighs, trapping my legs between his, and something warm and hard touches my thigh. I know what it is, but I don't know what to do with it. Once again, my mind wanders back to the way we used to be.

I recall standing like this a long time ago, by the edge of the bed, him sitting down, me standing between his legs with his erection barely touching my thigh. I replay the events in my mind, watching myself push him down on the bed and drinking him in with my eyes. I see my hands sliding over his chest, teasing his nipples and playing with his chest hair. His sounds from back then reverberate in my memories: a low moan at first, changing into a growl as I slid down between his thighs and took him in my mouth, eager to please him, wanting – and needing – to feel him pulsate against my tongue and taste salty liquid seeping from him.

The difference between that urgent growl and the low, content humming I hear now is monumental, and I mourn the loss those sounds. I have no doubt in my mind that if I could do that again, I'd have them back. But I don't dare to try, because I don't know if I can handle it right now. I'm not ready for that, and it makes me both angry and sad.

I wind his hair around my fingers, feeling the silky strands slide between them. He turns his face up against me, and the change inside of me is instant. The calm disappears and is replaced by shyness and insecurity, and I feel a blush creeping over my chest, heating my skin and reddening my cheeks and ears. I bite my lip and look away, once again not able to meet his eyes, once again feeling shame for it. I shake my head, annoyed with my inabilities, self-consciousness and irrational behaviour.

I'm at a loss. I don't know how to do this. I _should_ know, because I have it all in my head, but translating it into actions is impossible. My body doesn't work with me, it just locks down and even the simplest moves feel insuperable.

I know I've been able to do certain things recently – I've touched him, made love to him, given myself to him, but this time I just can't. It's like I'm back to square one, and I don't understand why. What is the difference this time, compared to the others?

"You don't want to?" he asks quietly in a tense voice. It takes a second before it dawns on me – he thought I was shaking my head at him, that I was saying no. I give him a small smile.

"Yes, I do, but I don't know how to," I whisper. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I know enough for both of us," he answers, forcing the strain out of his voice, trying to make it sound light. I still hear it, though. I hear the urgency, the need for affection and release.

"Please Edward, help me with this. I can't do it otherwise," I plead. He rests his forehead against my belly for a few seconds before grabbing my hips and pulling me down beside him. The cold sheets make me shiver slightly, and he stands up, offering me the space where he's been sitting. His form has made an impression in the duvet, and I stroke the fabric with my hand, feeling the warmth from his body still lingering.

As I scoot over, he puts his hands on my shoulder and pushes me back, forcing me to lie down. It is not a gentle gesture, but not harsh either. It's firm and decisive, and I'm thankful for the pressure it takes off me. It doesn't matter that I don't remember how to do it. He remembers for me.

_I need this._

_I need him to take the lead. _

_I need him to decide for me._

I close my eyes and raise my hands above my head, take a deep breath and open myself to him.


	24. Helpless and Liberated

_**I want to thank Stephenie Meyer for creating the characters we love to borrow from her. Without her we wouldn't be here. Thanks to FangMom and Netracullen for being awesome betas, and to FangMom, KitsuShel, SammieLynnsMom, Sadtomato, Ocdmess, Chartwilightmom, Ailisraevyn and Kimmydonn (and any other WC friend I might have missed mentioning) for keeping me busy with the WC's I needed to get this done.**_

_**

* * *

**_

_**Helpless and **__**Liberated**_

I lie on the bed, open to him, willing. His hands skim down my body. They follow my raised arms, my ribcage, my waist, and then come to rest at my hips. He takes a firm hold of them and guides me forward, until my bottom is resting at the edge of the bed. My legs are slightly parted, my knees bent and feet firmly placed on the ground. He's kneeling between my legs, so close I can feel his body heat radiate against my naked sex. As I try to get closer to him, wanting to feel his skin against me, he moves away, and I whimper involuntarily.

"Bella, are you okay with your hands above your head like that?" he asks slowly. I nod at him, eyes still closed.

"I want to tie you up," he murmurs. I still for a second, trying to decipher how I feel about his suggestion. We've been talking about this, and I'm not entirely opposed to the idea. I think back to when we first used the ropes. I wasn't really tied up that time, but it was a relief when he told me I couldn't move my hands, and I did like the feeling of the rope against my skin.

_It's not like I was planning on using my hands anyway. I mean, the reason I raise them above my head in the first place is because I don't really know what to do with them anymore. __Having them tied up won't be much different, right? It might even be… good._

"Okay," I whisper, swallowing hard with equal feelings of nervousness and exhilaration.

I peek between my eyelids as he gets up and walks over to the closet to bring out the ropes. His slender, yet muscular frame moves smoothly, and I see his back muscles flex under his skin as he searches for the rope. I quickly close them again as he turns towards me, somewhat embarrassed that I've been checking him out. For some reason it feels like I shouldn't have. He never told me to close my eyes, but he didn't say I could look, either.

I feel the bed shift as he sits down beside me, and his familiar scent gets stronger as he leans over me.

"Scoot up, baby. I want you in the middle of the bed," he says. I use my elbows to crawl backwards, my eyes still closed, until I feel his hand on my shoulder. He tells me to stop and gently presses my chest down onto the mattress.

"Now, raise your arms above your head again." I follow his instructions, putting my hands together, but he grasps them and pulls them apart, spreading my arms and placing my hands close to the upper corners of the bed. Lying like this makes me feel a bit more insecure than having my hands clasped together, but it's not too much to handle.

"Are you okay with this?" he asks, and I nod again, a bit more hesitant this time. He senses the almost invisible delay in my response, and places his hand at my chest.

"Bella, you need to tell me to stop if I push you too far. If you're not entirely sure, tell me to wait, and I will." His voice is intense, and I hear the sincerity and the promise in it. I know he will stop if I tell him to. I have nothing to worry about.

"I will. Just… take it slow, okay?" I plead quietly. He leans down and kisses my forehead.

"I promise. Don't you want to open your eyes? Maybe it feels better if you see what I'm doing," he suggests, but I shake my head at him.

"No… just tell me what you plan to do. That's fine," I answer. The bed shifts again as he moves, and I feel his hand touching my wrist.

"I'm going to wrap this rope around your wrist a few times, but I won't tie any knots. That way you can get used to the feeling, but still know that it's easy to get out if you need to, just by spinning your wrists around," he says, before sliding the rope over my arm and up to my wrist.

The tickle from the rope surprises me, and I tremble slightly but nod at him in consent. He lifts my hand and run the rope around my wrist. I focus on the feeling of his hands as they wrap it a few times around, and I count silently in my head.

_One… two… three… four… five… six. Six times I'll have to spin my wrist __if I want to untie myself._

He moves off the bed, and I feel a light tug in the rope that stretches my arm out. I understand from the movements that he's fastening the rope to something, probably the bedpost, and as I try to move my arm I realize I'm right. It's held firmly in place, but I also feel the rope loosen a little when I move my wrist.

Edward moves again, putting his knees on either side of my body and slowly lowering himself until I feel his naked ass against my hips. He doesn't put all his weight on me, just enough to render me immobile, and leans forward. His hands run down my arms and over my breasts, grazing my nipples with his thumbs before continuing down to my waist. He wraps his hands around me, gently massaging my tummy with his thumbs.

"I really like the sight of that rope against your skin," he whispers, before moving over to my other side. My skin erupts in goose pimples as the warmth of his body disappears, and I wish he was back on top of me, covering me and keeping me warm.

He takes my other hand and stretches my arm out, wrapping the rope around my wrist. I count again, six times, and then recognize the tug in the rope that tells me he's tying it to the bedpost. He sits still for a few seconds before climbing over me, placing himself over my body once again.

I watch him as he moves down my body, caressing my skin. He trails his fingers in small irregular patters, like he's drawing pictures by connecting the dots that are my tiny moles. His light touch tickles my skin and makes me shiver, and there is something about the movement that feels uncertain and indecisive. For some reason it makes me cringe, and I want to recoil, to withdraw my body from it. I tense, and he senses the change in my posture.

"What's wrong, Bella?" he asks.

"It's nothing, really… I just… The way you touch me, it makes me uncomfortable. That light touch, somehow it feels unreliable. I'm sorry; I don't know how to explain it. It feels like I don't know what you're doing, like I can't predict where you're going. It feels very… uncertain."

I try to explain, feeling like I'm failing miserably. I don't even know why it makes me uncomfortable, I just know that it does, and I know that's not how you're supposed to feel. You're supposed to enjoy that kind of light, feathery touch, everyone says so. It's in all the magazines, the sex columns, the romance novels, but in my bed, with my body, it doesn't work. It makes me want to run away.

His brows furrow as he thinks it over.

"So do you not want me to touch you?" he asks.

"No, that's not it. I think I want you to touch me differently, more firmly. Do you know what I mean?"

"Oh… Like this instead?" he asks, and takes a firm hold of my thigh, pressing his fingers in it and kneading it. My body reacts to it instantly, my back arching and thighs spreading on their own accord.

"Oh God, yes…" I gasp and close my eyes, moaning at the feeling of his hand grasping my leg and massaging my flesh. This kind of touch brings my nerves to life; it awakens my limbs and reminds me that I still have a body. It is resolute and distinct, and leaves nothing to for me to worry or wonder about. I revel in his touch, the roughness of it leaving my skin tingling and burning in a delightful way.

"Can I try one thing?" he asks softly. I open my eyes and watch him. His hair is rumpled and his cheeks are flushed. His eyes are blazing, a sharp contradiction to the tenderness in his voice. It should maybe bother me, but I realize that it's a sign of the control he has over himself. He has the power to contain himself despite the burning desire I see in his eyes, and it makes me feel safe.

"I don't know… What do you have in mind?" I don't know what he could possibly do; he has already fastened my hands.

"I want to spread your legs and tie them to the legs of the bed."

My mouth works on its own, forming a silent "o" as I turn it over in my mind. I have never thought of that possibility, but of course you can tie one's legs as well. I try to imagine how it would look, with me sprawled out on the bed like that. The image I see isn't unpleasant at all; I can understand how this might please him. I would be unable to move, completely opened up and available to him, offering myself to him in every way.

_I want to do that…_

"Will you keep touching me like this?" I ask, needy for this new sensation I've just discovered.

"Oh, I will touch you, all right…" he answers lowly, cocking his eyebrow at me.

"Then yes… you can do that if you want to," I answer, my voice trembling. He closes his eyes minutely, and as he opens them again the blaze has softened to a warm glow. He leans forward and gives me a kiss – not prodding and demanding, just soft lips against mine – before he grabs my legs and spreads them.

His hands run down my legs, pausing at the ankles and massaging them firmly. I hold my breath as he spreads my legs further, and lift my head to be able to see what he's doing. He leans down and picks up a piece of rope from the floor, wrapping it around my right ankle.

I count again, six times, and then he pulls the rope down over the bed's corner. I can see that he leaves one end of the rope hanging as he secures the other to the leg of the bed, so I'm not actually tied up. I can still release my foot if I need to, just like I can with my hands. It feels safe to know that, but on some level it's also slightly disappointing.

I tilt my head as I ponder this unexpected feeling. Having my feet tied to the bed doesn't feel as intimidating as having my hands rendered immobile. It shouldn't be any different, but somehow it is.

_Why do I feel disappointed__ because he didn't fasten both ends of the rope? Maybe it feels safe enough knowing that my hands aren't really fastened? With them free I can untie my feet anyway, if I need to._

"Edward? I think it is okay for you to tie the other end as well," I tell him. He pauses and looks up at me.

"It's enough that my hands aren't really fastened. I want to feel what it's like when I can't move my feet."

A smile spreads across his face, and he takes the loose end of the rope, tying a simple but effective knot around my ankle. I try to move my leg, but it's securely fastened, with my foot at the right corner of the bed. He stands up and watches me intently, before he walks over to the other side. His hands run down the length of my left leg, before pulling it towards the edge, placing my foot at the left corner and securing it to the leg of the bed.

My arms and legs are spread wide, my entire body available to him. I feel the blood rush down to my sex, and I buck my hips, longing for him to touch me. I'm completely open for him, rendered helpless by the ropes – _well, not entirely_, the back of my mind reminds me – and he can do with me whatever he wants, use me in whichever way he decides. For some reason it is both very sexy and incredibly liberating lying like this. I have no obligations or responsibilities in this position, and the fact that I don't know how to make love to him anymore doesn't matter, because there is nothing I can do. Everything is on him, now. I have given him my body and my trust, and in return I get the physical love I need, but don't know how to make.

His hands work their way up again, firmly massaging my legs and awakening my skin. I tremble as he gets closer to the apex of my thighs. The tension builds in my body, and I jerk when his tongue suddenly touches me, pressing against me, tasting me with a long, slow lick. He slides is hands under me, grabbing my bottom and squeezing it hard. I moan, wanting to feel his lips on me again, and he lifts my hips, still with a firm grip on my ass, and assaults me with his mouth. His hands kneading my ass cheeks and his tongue massaging my sensitive spot work together, creating a delicious heat that spreads through my entire body and finally concentrates in my groin.

I reflexively try to move my legs; to close them up and wrap them around him, but the straining ropes keeps them in place. Not being able to move like I want to slows down the approaching climax, and I teeter on the edge of my orgasm for a long time. My entire body shakes from the tension as his mouth keeps sucking and lapping at me, and I spin my wrists around, grabbing a firm hold of the rope to brace myself. When he finally pushes two of his fingers inside me the release rolls over me in waves, drowning me, blinding me, taking my breath away.

I pant with exhaustion, barely feeling my limbs anymore; the only part of me still connected to my brain is my sex. I look down at my heavy body and shudder at the sight of my nakedness. I wish I looked different. I wish I had a softer, fuller body, without hipbones sticking out, and breasts that still were visible when I laid flat on my back. I close my eyes again, wishing the lights had been out so I wouldn't be reminded of the way I look.

Edward keeps licking slowly, and each stroke with his tongue against my oversensitive clit is close to painful. His constant ministrations are beginning to feel uncomfortable. If my hands were free I'd grab his head and pull him up to me, but they aren't so I rotate my hips trying to escape his mouth. He misreads my motions, taking them as encouragement, and presses his mouth against me. I push my ass down into the mattress, away from his persistent tongue which seems hell-bent on giving me another orgasm.

"Edward, please stop," I say, my voice hoarse and thick.

He pauses and lifts his head, eyeing me from between my thighs.

"What… why?" he asks. He sounds confused and almost a bit hurt.

"I can't take any more. It's too much, all the attention…" I take a deep breath, feeling guilty for doing this to him.

"Too much attention… I don't get it. What do you mean?" He shakes his head and furrows his brows.

"It's just… You're focusing really hard on me right now, and it just… it makes me a bit uncomfortable," I plead.

"But I _want_ to focus on you. I want to please you." He sounds lost and puzzled, and I curse myself for not being able to fully appreciate what he's willing to do for me.

"I know that, Edward, but I'm really sensitive down there right now. And I want you to focus on yourself, now. I've had my fun, now I want you to have pleasure, too."

"But I get pleasure from giving it to you."

I throw my head back, exasperated. I don't know how to get him to understand. I don't want him to please me anymore. I want him to please _himself_, and _not_ think about me all the time. I just want him to take me, _claim_ me… Words I haven't used in a very long time surface in my mind, and I utter them before I have the time to think.

"Edward, listen to me. I love that you want to give me pleasure. But right now I just want you to _fuck_ me."

He stills, and I hold my breath. I can't believe I just said it out loud. I close my eyes, feeling the blush burning my cheeks. I lie there, open, helpless and he creeps up, slowly, hovering above me.

"What did you just say?"

I swallow deeply, not able to form the words.

"Bella, say it."

"Sometimes I… I just want you to…" I close my eyes and whisper my last words, "fuck me."

He growls, and I gasp as he suddenly pushes all the way inside of me, burying himself as deep as he can. I grab a hold of the ropes again, steadying myself.

"Like this, Bella? Is this what you want?"

He withdraws, and thrusts back into me with force, making me moan loudly as his pelvis pounds against my swollen clit.

"Yes," I pant, "this is what I want."

He bows his head down, resting his forehead against mine, and rotates his hips in a delicious way before pulling almost all the way out.

"I'm not going to be able to hold it in, Bella. So help me God… This is going to be hard, and fast."

"Please," I whimper, and he slams back into me repeatedly and relentlessly, relinquishing all control and allowing himself to take what he wants, to claim his bound-up wife and mark her as his. It's raw and carnal, and an incredible turn-on. As he reaches his climax, buried deep inside of me, all I can think of is how amazing it feels to lie like this, vulnerable and helpless, as he takes me with no other motives than his own pleasure.

Edward falls onto me, panting heavily.

"Oh God… That was… When you say things like that, Bella, it does things to me."

I giggle, incredibly pleased with myself, and he pulls himself out and rolls off me. He sits up with effort, waving one hand at me.

"Hang on baby. I just need to connect to my brain. I'm going to untie you when I remember how to do it."

I laugh at him, feeling giddy, and start to turn my wrists around, unwrapping them on my own. He's still catching his breath as I sit up and reach for something to wipe away the juices that are leaking from me. I fish up one of his old tees from the floor and stuff it under my bottom to protect the sheets.

"Oh good. You managed on your own. I'm trying to get my body to move, but nothing happens. What did you do to me, woman?"

I smile and untie my ankles before lying down again, bending my legs a few times to get rid of the stiffness and soften up my joints. His cum is still dripping from me, and I reach down to wipe it off.

He leans over and grabs my hand.

"Here, let me do it."

He gently pats my folds with the tee, catching the dripping semen with it and wiping me clean. The lust that still lingers in my sex is surfacing, and I moan as I lift my hips to meet his hands. He keeps stroking me with the soft fabric, wiping even though there isn't anything left to wipe off, and I slowly roll my pelvis rhythmically. As he increases the pressure I fall over the edge again, the residual desire releasing in one quick but forceful orgasm.

He lets go of the tee and places small kisses all the way from my belly button to my clavicle, and then lies down beside me.

"Was that as good for you, as it was for me?" he says in a mock seductive voice. I snort at him and slap his chest.

"You know damned well it was," I retort, "you're just fishing for compliments."

He grins at me, and I smile back at him. We turn out the lights and lie silent for a while, each to their own thoughts, as peace is settling in our bedroom.

I wonder why I enjoyed the feeling of being helpless so much. It doesn't make sense to me. Generally, I hate that feeling. I strive to be competent; I don't want to rely on anybody else. I despise the 'damsel in distress' act that women sometimes put on, and I often say no when help is offered just because I want to ensure myself, and others, that I'm fully capable of taking care of myself. Being helpless is the exact antithesis of how I see myself and how I want to be perceived by others. Why is that okay – exciting, even – in this situation?

I don't want to be helpless. I wouldn't choose it myself, and it is worlds apart from the 'super-woman' I feel I need to be all the time. But when I was rendered helpless by Edward like this, it was wonderful. It was liberating. Maybe I liked it because it allowed me to be something I otherwise never am? Acknowledging the vulnerable side of my personality is something I never do, but it's still there. I know it. Perhaps that's why I enjoyed it so much – it forced me to embrace my vulnerability, to accept being helpless, and to let someone else be the capable one.

It sounds weird, but in an odd way it makes sense to me. I can understand why something I normally wouldn't like suddenly feels desirable. When I think about it, I really want to do it again. I turn to Edward and touch his chest. His eyes fly open, and I realize he's been dozing off.

"I'm sorry… were you asleep?" I whisper.

"Uhm, no, I just… rested a bit," he yawns. I smile and shake my head at him. I know he had fallen asleep and that he says no so I won't feel bad for waking him up. It's a very Edward-ish thing to do, when I think about it. It's also kind of sweet.

"Oh come on, Edward. You were sleeping, I can tell…"

"If I was, why did you wake me up, then?"

"Well, I wanted to talk to you about something…" I begin, but pause there, hesitating because I'm not sure how to say this. I'm not good at talking about my feelings, but if there is something I've learned the last few months, it is that if you keep quiet it's all going to grow out of proportion, and the longer you hide your feelings, the harder it'll be to finally start talking. I really want to say this, so I swallow my insecurities and continue.

"I liked being tied up like this. It felt good, and I wanted you to know that I'd like to do it again, sometime. Also, you can tie my hands for real, not just wrap the rope around my wrists like that." I stumble through my words, suddenly embarrassed and thankful the lights are out. I'm not sure I could tell him this with the lights on.

"There's just one thing… It's kind of hard for me to watch what you do, because I don't really like to see myself naked. So if I can keep my eyes closed… You know what I mean?"

"Absolutely, although I have to say I really like when you watch… I don't get why you don't want to see yourself, though. It doesn't make sense to me. You're beautiful."

"Yeah, well, I'm glad you say that, but I don't feel that way. The only thing I can think about when I see myself is my non-existent boobs, my bony chest and my hipbones sticking out. I'm sorry, but I don't find that very sexy," I sigh.

"Well, as long as I can look at you, I'm just fine. Because I think you're really hot, you know…" he says, wiggling his eyebrows at me. I stifle a giggle, thankful that he's trying to lighten this conversation. He turns to his side and places his hand on my chest, and I sense his mood change from joking to serious. He's quiet for a while, drumming his fingers against my ribcage.

"It makes me sad that you don't like yourself," he mumbles quietly, before pulling me close. He buries his face in the crook of my neck, and I feel his light scruff against my shoulder. He pulls a deep, shaky breath, and as something wet falls on my neck I realize that he really _is_ sad for me.

I raise my arm and caress his head, pulling my fingers slowly through his rumpled hair before wiping a tear from his cheek.

_I'm sad for me, too._

_

* * *

__**A little A/N at the end... I hope that I'll finish this story on its anniversary on February 25th. It would be fun to be able to make that happen, and that's what I'll try. I'm having a bit of trouble now that it's getting closer to the end, to get things right, but I hope I will not disappoint! I've finished my contest entry for ForTheLoveOfWomen contest - it's an anonymous one, and all entries will surely be awesome, so if you like femmeslash you need to check those stories out when they get published! Thanks for still being with me.**_


	25. Confession and Confirmation

**As usual, Edward and Bella don't belong to me. Thank you Netracullen and FangMom for putting your awesome beta hats on for me.  
**

**Also, a big thank you to whoever nominated my O/S Locker Room Girl for the One Night Stand Award, and my collab with Netracullen (Smutiversity) for BOTH the Hidden Gem Award AND the Court Jester Award on The Twinklings Walk of Fame. I'm honoured! The list of nominated storys and authors is impressive. Voting can be done here: http :/ / twinklingswfa . blogspot . com/p/voting . html**

**I've entered the anonymous For The Love of Women contest. Entries are being posted as they are validated. Go read and review!** **http : / / www . fanfiction . net/~fortheloveofwomencontest**

**This chapter is short - but I hope you'll enjoy anyway!  
**

* * *

**_Confession and Confirmation_**

_Yeah, I actually am sad for me. _

_And I'm sad for him, because he has such a messed up wife._

As we lie together on the bed I feel his rhythmic breaths against my neck. I keep stroking his hair slowly, unconsciously matching the pace of my breathing to his, and we fall into a symbiotic pattern of breathing and stroking. _Breathe in, breathe out. Hand through hair. Breathe in, breathe out. Hand through hair. _His hushed voice startles me when he speaks again.

"Bella, why is it that you don't feel like you're beautiful?" he asks quietly. I lean my cheek against the top of his head and sigh. I have so much to choose from… I don't think there is one part of my body right now that I'm pleased with.

"I don't know, really. I just don't. When I compare how I look now to how I looked when I was younger, before the kids came… it's all different. I feel like I'm decaying. I have wrinkles around my eyes, and these dark circles under them all the time. I feel pale and gloomy. My boobs are smaller, like empty pouches, and my tummy is soft and wrinkly. Even my goddamn vagina is all loose and floppy. I don't recognize my body anymore, I feel like it's not even mine, you know?"

"Err… No, I don't know. That's why I ask," he says, turning his face to mine. His probing eyes make me feel exposed and insecure, and I move away from him a bit, creating a space between us. I press my hands against my eyes and shake my head.

"I don't know how to explain it. It's probably about a lot more than just my body, anyway. I haven't felt like myself in a long time. A while ago, I felt like my personality was entirely gone – that I wasn't Bella anymore. I played a bunch of different roles that I didn't particularly like, and I didn't know how to be _me_ again. It's better now, I feel more like my old self again, but being someone you don't like for such a long time… I guess it affects how you see yourself."

I pause and think back to my session with Emily. Has my past played a role in this as well? I disliked myself for a long time before Edward came along. It was he who made me like _me_ again.

"Is it my fault that you don't like yourself?" he asks quietly, and I curse inwardly at myself for giving him that impression.

"God no," I exclaim with force, "I hated myself before you came along. You made me love myself again, but I kind of forgot it after a while."

He lets out a sigh of relief, but then furrows his brows in confusion.

"But Bella, I really don't get that. You didn't seem like someone who hated herself. You were always funny, happy, sexy, surrounded by men…"

I purse my lips and snort, not at him but at how he describes me. It's spot on, of course, very consistent with how I wanted others to see me, but completely off when it comes to how I felt inside.

"I got pretty good at hiding it, even from myself actually. I probably wasn't fine even before, but when I met James… He made it worse. Let's just leave it at that," I conclude, hoping desperately that he won't ask any more questions.

Edward raises his head and searches for my eyes. "No, let's _not_ leave it at that," he says. "If there are things that made you not like yourself, I want to know what they are so I can show you they're not true."

His voice is earnest and resolute, and I know that I won't be able to elude him this time. I turn my face away from him, so he can't see the tears in my eyes.

"But what if they are true? What will you think of me, then? I'm ashamed," I whisper.

He puts his hand at my shoulder, shaking me gently to emphasize his words.

"Listen Bella, what you did or who you were before we met is none of my business, but I want to know anyway because it clearly affects you, and that makes it my business. I love you for who you are now, and I won't think less of you just because of anything that happened before we met."

I pull my hands through my hair in exasperation and take a deep breath. I don't know how to dodge his questions, and to be honest, I don't know if I even should. Maybe it's time he finds out who I really was, and what kind of person he married. It's more than fair, but I can't do it and look him in the eyes at the same time.

So I turn around, facing the wall instead, and then I tell him.

I tell him that I cheated on my first boyfriend even though he was a great guy, just because I met Jake and forgot everything else in the world. I explain how it made me feel like a whore, that I still feel guilty for doing that, and that I probably did a lot of stupid things just to punish myself for it.

I confess that I don't know how many sexual partners I had before we met, because I lost count and don't even remember some of them. I tell him that most of the times I wanted Jake to take me home, but he didn't, and I never asked him to, so I took whoever was closest just so I wouldn't feel abandoned.

I admit that I slept with some of them just because I liked the way they looked at me, and I wanted to feel desired and loved, but when it was all over I only felt empty. I tell him that I felt more like a whore with every man I dragged home, but I couldn't quit doing it because I got addicted to the high I got from their attention.

I explain that even though I knew I was on a self destructive path, I convinced myself that I was free to do what I wanted with whoever I wanted, and proved this to myself by taking yet another man to my bed.

I tell him about James. I tell him how James broke me down, piece by piece, how he confirmed the negative view I already had of myself and made me feel unworthy of love, how he made me so unsure of myself that I never knew how to act around him.

As I speak, I realize how many of my issues these last years might actually be related to my past. I can see that parts of it were from me being depressed and the pressure I felt, and that my problems with intimacy and touching may derive from my experiences with James – and even before him. It's suddenly clear that I haven't felt beautiful _inside_ for a very long time, and that it has affected how I see my outer self.

Edward stays quiet behind me, listening as I spill my secrets and fears, twirling a lock of my hair between his fingers. When I finally run out of words and fall quiet, he waits a few moments before putting his hands on my body, urging me to turn around and face him again.

He is lying on his side, one elbow on the pillow and his head propped in his hand. I lay on my side and mirror his pose, but I don't dare to look in his eyes, and focus ruefully on the pattern of the sheets instead. He has made no indication whatsoever that he's angry with what I told him, or that it has in some way changed how he feels about me, but that doesn't matter because I'm still ashamed for some of the things I've done.

"You don't see yourself very clearly, Bella," he says gently and takes my hand. I shrug lightly, still not able to look at him.

"Do you know why I think you're beautiful?" he continues, his thumb stroking my knuckles. I shake my head and swallow audibly.

"Do you know why I love you?"

He lets go of my hand, takes the duvet and slides it off my body, and I shiver both from the cold and from the exposure. He rubs his hand up and down my arm a few times, warming me with the friction it's creating. He lets it rest on my shoulder for a few seconds before continuing down my side to my waist.

"I love how soft your skin is. I can't understand how it's possible to even _have_ skin like that. I want to touch it all the time, to see if it still feels the same way or of I'm just imagining it. It's so smooth, like silk, and the colour is amazing. It's like cream. I love cream. The small moles you have, they're like tiny star constellations and I like to pretend I see pictures in them."

He drags his fingers along the line of my waist up to my hip, traces small circles on top of it, and then slides them down again; his touch firm enough that I won't feel any discomfort, but still light enough to make it intensely erotic.

"I love the curve of your waist, right here. It's incredibly sexy. I like to watch it from different angles to see how it changes. I like to run my fingers along this line, from your hip down to your waist. Then, I like to continue up, like this…" He slides his hand along my ribcage and lets it dip down as he reaches my breasts. He runs his fingers along them, following the soft curve all the way around before covering one of them with his palm.

"Your breasts… You're telling me they're too small and empty. I don't think that. The softness, the roundness, the colour of your nipples and the way they change shape and harden as I touch them… it's still there, and I still love it. They feel a bit different than before, of course, but different doesn't mean bad, you know. And to be honest, I'm a man. Men love all boobs, and these are yours, so I love them more."

He moves his hand down and takes a hold of my waist, caressing my tummy with his thumb before slowly sliding his hand up to my hip. He lets it rest there for a second and then runs it down to my lower back. As he speaks he moves his hand further down, cupping my bottom.

"Your ass… It's so… grab-friendly. I know you think it's too flat, but it's really not. It fits right into my hands, and it's so soft, and when I squeeze it like this…" He grabs my ass and presses his fingers into my cheeks, kneading it rhythmically. "…it makes certain parts of my body grow very hard, very fast."

I smile at him and lay my head down, resting it against the pillow. I like listening to him. I still can't really believe all he's telling me, but it's sweet of him to try, and I love him for seeing the positive things about me. My breath hitches as his hand sneaks down between my legs, brushing against my clit and coming to rest against my sex. I feel his fingertips tapping lightly at my entrance.

"And this? This is awesome. I know it has changed, I can feel it. I get what you mean when you say it's not as tight as it used to be, but I don't think that's a bad thing. Not for me, anyway. Before we had the kids… I had so much trouble trying to not cum at once. Every move I made inside of you, I felt those walls clench and pulsate, and it was so good… I had to think about baseball, my old grandma and dirty underwear to be able to last longer than a few thrusts. You have no idea how difficult it was. It's easier now. I like that I can actually last long enough to give you something good, without having to think unpleasant thoughts. Now I can allow myself to experience how it feels, listen to the way you moan, focus on the look on your face… I couldn't do that before, because if I let myself do that I'd shoot my load instantly. So yes, I love your pussy."

I feel my tears rising, and draw a deep breath as he slides his arm around me and pulls me closer. He's quiet for a while, and I lay still, listening to his heart beating. I feel the rise in his chest as he starts talking again.

"But what I love you for the most, right now, isn't that you have this beautiful body. It's not because you've given me these two wonderful kids, or that you take care of the entire family the way you do. Instead, it is that you're still with me, lying close to me, and that you give yourself to me even though you have had such a hard time with my touches."

I close my eyes and bury my face in his chest, inhaling his scent and feeling the vibrations as he murmurs his words, the ones that make me believe we will be okay.

"You say you don't tell me you love me often enough. I say you don't need to, because you show me. Giving up your power to someone, like you did when you let me tie you up, is truly a gift, and an act of love and trust. And that's how I know you love me."


	26. Tulips and Love Letters

**As always, I don't own Twilight. This story is pretty close to my own life, though. Thanks to FangMom and Netracullen for being awesome betas, and to all of you for still reading and leaving me those wonderful reviews!  
**

**I have an entry in For The Love Of Women contest. It's anonymous, and it contains a bunch of awesome femme one-shots. Go read, review and vote when the time comes! http : / / www . fanfiction . net/~fortheloveofwomencontest**

* * *

_**Tulips and Love Letters**_

EPOV

Friday morning greets me earlier than I'd like, with blissfully sore muscles from last night's lovemaking and a half-hearted morning wood twitching in my underwear. I reach down to adjust myself, carefully so I don't wake Bella. We'll have to get up and do the whole morning routine soon enough anyway, probably complete with fighting Benji over the toothbrush and reminding Kate at least a dozen of times that she has to get dressed. Just because I woke up too early doesn't mean she has to as well, so I lay still, listening to her breathing slowly change from deep to shallow, and as the rising morning sun slowly brightens the room, I watch her stir awake.

I wonder if she'll say something about yesterday, or if I'm supposed to address it in some way. I never really know those things. Women confuse me; it's so easy to say the wrong thing, or even worse, to say nothing at all when you were supposed to. I think this is a "say something" occasion, but it doesn't feel like it's something you want to mention on a Friday morning while making sandwiches for the kids. It's too important.

Our talk yesterday shed so much light over why she is the way she is, or rather has been, because a lot has changed these last months. I'd like to think it's because of me and the fact that I am a much more helpful husband, and part of it probably is. But to be honest, I think the biggest change comes from inside of her.

I'm not sure she's even aware of how much she's altered. It doesn't seem like it. She sounds like she thinks she's still in the same place as she used to be. Maybe the fact that she doesn't see herself very clearly prevents her from realizing it. Maybe it's harder to see the change when you're the one undergoing it. Maybe she still _feels_ the same about herself, and doesn't notice how much she has changed her behaviour.

I notice, though. I just don't know how to make _her_ see it.

My semi has retreated to a less offensive state, which I appreciate, because I know my hard-ons sometimes worry Bella. She seems to think an erection automatically means I want to have sex, which is not the case. She once said she feels guilty for denying me something that I, judging from the state of my cock, seem to want. I wouldn't say no if it was offered, but the boner is just there sometimes, for no reason at all, and she shouldn't feel pressured by it.

I slide my hand under the duvet, carefully testing the waters to see if she'll flinch away or let my hand stay there. The way her body twitches and tenses from my touch lets me know she's awake, but she's not moving away so I keep still, my fingertips just barely touching the small of her back.

The things she told me yesterday, about her past, nearly killed me. She never dared to tell me before. She was afraid I'd stop loving her – like that was ever going to happen. But how could she know that? The way our marriage used to be, it wasn't that hard to believe the other one was planning on leaving.

It made me sad to hear all those things, but not because she'd been with so many men. I knew that already, and I don't give a shit about it. What made me sad was the fact that she was hurting because of it. If she'd been happy with it and not regretted anything, then I'd be fine about it, too. But she's not, and I'm not happy when she's not happy.

Bella seems to think her past defines who she is. I don't believe that. You are not merely the sum of your actions, of what you've done. You also have to add what you can do – or be – in the future, your feelings, and your importance to other people. Who you were, who you are and who you will be aren't the same. People change, and everyone is worthy of being loved by someone, no matter what.

I realize it must have been her last meeting with Dr. Young that finally made her open up and talk about it. Even though I was hesitant in the beginning about going to therapy, I have to admit it has helped her, and us, a lot. Not all of it is because of the sessions, I think we were on the right path even before. Most of it is probably thanks to Bella. She made the effort to tell me what she needed, and to try and give me what I needed. I'm not sure anything would have changed – at least not for the better – if it all had been up to only me. I don't think I would have had the strength, the courage or the drive to take action, to try and make things better.

I'm grateful that she had enough of that for both of us.

I can tell from the rhythm of Bella's breathing, and the way she quickly wiggles her foot, that she's beginning to feel restless. My guess is that our alarms will go off in a matter of minutes, telling us it's time to get up and get ready for work. I thank whatever God there might be that it's Friday, because this night has really gotten the better of me. I wouldn't have it any other way, though. Making love – or fucking, in her words – was incredible. Tying her up like that was mind-blowing. Having her open up to me and tell me her story was an emotional turmoil. I can only imagine all those things took their toll much harder on her than on me.

I hear the click of the clock before the alarm sets in, and Bella throws her hand out in a fraction of a second, shutting it down before it even has a chance to go off. It suddenly makes sense to me why I never wake up from her alarm. She throws her feet off the bed, rubs her face and silently pads into the bathroom. I stay in bed, listening to her taking the towel down from the rack and turning the shower on. The sound of sprinkling water is threatening to lull me back to sleep, but I force myself out of the bed. Bella must be tired, and the least I can do is prepare breakfast and wake the kids up. She often does that while I'm in the shower, but now that I think of it, there's no reason at all why I couldn't do it while she showers. It would save us all a few minutes, and that is not a bad thing in the hectic morning rush.

The tea is brewing and breakfast is on the table when I hear her turn off the shower, and by the time I'm done showering the kids are already up and dressed. Well, Benji is. Kate is still pondering which socks to pick. Pink or… another pink. It's an important decision, apparently, and she rolls her eyes at me when I tell her to just choose a pair already and get herself to the table. She "wants them to match the shirt", and I cannot for the love of God see the difference. They're all pink to me, and I don't get why she can't just make her pick. They're just socks, no one will probably notice anyway.

Her decision is taking forever, and the frustration is building inside me. Bella comes into the room with an annoyed look on her face, asking what's taking us so long. After quickly assessing the situation she takes the pink socks from Kate and gives her a pair of blue ones instead.

"There, problem solved," she says sternly and ushers Kate out of her room. A few "But mom…" are uttered in a whiny voice, but Bella doesn't take notice and Kate accepts the solution with a sulky face. Blue socks are on in a matter of minutes.

_Oh. That was easy._

Then I realize I do the exact same thing as Kate, not every morning, but probably a few times a week. I don't debate the colour of the socks, but the colour and pattern of the tie. Unlike Kate, I don't try to make the decision on my own. I spend some time muttering and sighing, waiting to see if she hears me and comes to my aid. If she doesn't, I call for her in a probably not so pleasant way and ask her which one to choose. She usually has the exact same look on her face when she reaches for the proper thing for me to wear, like she did just now with Kate. Annoyed and tired. I wonder why I haven't noticed that before. I also wonder why I can't just pick a damned tie on my own. A grown man should be able to pick his own tie. At that moment I resolve to stop asking her to make those decisions for me.

_At least __the ones about ties._

I join my family at the table, and breakfast is eaten and put away again in the usual weekday morning fashion. Quick and effective. I never really liked that, I want to read the morning paper and take it slow, ease into the new day. It's with a slight pang of guilt that I stay at the table reading, as Bella steers the kids into the bathroom to brush their teeth and comb their hair. Somewhere in between she finds the time to put some make-up on, and she brushes her own teeth while looking for Kate's sweater.

I glance furtively at her when she scurries around the house. Even though I see that she's a bit stressed, there is something different about her now compared to before. Something has changed in the way she moves. She used to be really tense, always on the edge. She looked like she was on the verge of flight, a tightened spring about to go off. It's not the same now. Her shoulders are down. She's not wringing her hands as often as she used to, and she holds her head higher.

I rise from the table and head for the bathroom. As I pass her in the hallway I stop, put my arm around her and give her a hug. She pauses, and when I lower my face to her she tilts her head, offering me her cheek for a quick kiss. I press my lips against it and whispers in her ear that I'm grateful that she took care of the kids this morning so I could finish reading the paper.

I want to say more but don't find the right words for it, and she chuckles at me and continues her morning tear through the house before I have put my thoughts together into coherent lines.

_I'm sorry you had to go through all that._

_I don't love you any less._

_I love you more._

But the moment passes and my words stay inside my head until further notice. Instead I focus on the fact that I actually hugged her. That's different, too. I can do that now, and she doesn't flinch. Sometimes she hugs me back, and the other day she was the one coming up to me, giving me a hug for no reason at all. That made me happy, but I didn't want to make a big deal out of it. I was afraid she'd back away if I did that. She's still not comfortable with being noticed, so I just hugged her back, let go and then went back to whatever I was doing. It seems like that was the right way to act, because I didn't see any tension in her posture afterwards.

I brush my teeth quickly, pick a tie – on my own, mind you – and embark on the mission to get the kids into shoes and jackets. Half of them are missing, but Bella seems to have some kind of maternal 'kid's clothes radar' and instinctively knows where to look for them. I don't know how she does that. Come to think of it, she's the one who usually finds my missing stuff, too. I don't know if that means I fall under the category 'overgrown kid' or if that radar has a marital mode as well. I hope it's the latter. She already has two kids; she doesn't need a third one.

We stuff the kids into the cars, Kate in mine and Benji in hers, kiss goodbye and drive off in different directions. I leave Kate at Kindergarten and head to work.

Co-workers pass by at the office, making small talk by the coffee machine, exchanging weekend plans and acting like they care. I know that they'll forget about it as soon as they walk away, and I don't have the energy to take part in the charade right now. I smile and nod at people, but keep to myself. I have things on my mind, and it bothers me that I still haven't said anything to Bella about yesterday. As far as I know, she might even believe I judge her for something as absurd as her sexual history. It also bothers me that she's not aware of how much she's changed. When I think about it, I'm not even sure I've seen all the changes, either.

I take a pen and a paper and start jotting down the things I've noticed about her, starting with the ones I've already thought about this morning. I chew on the tip of the pen and tap my fingertips against the desk. If I can't find the right moment to say the things I want to her, I can write it to her in a letter. After 8 hours of work and an equal amount of discarded drafts, I call it a day and head to the car.

I stop at the flower shop on my way home and buy her a bunch of tulips. I know she likes them, because she buys them herself on occasion. I spend some time debating which colour to buy, and then decide on a large bouquet of what I'm told are parrot tulips, red and white, with ruffled edges. I like them. The red resembles the love we share, that I once thought was gone. The white makes me think of the day we married, of her dress and the pearls in her hair. The ruffled edge of the petals reminds me of her, a bit frayed and torn in the ends, but that's what makes them unique. They are not perfectly shaped, but they are special, which to me means they are beautiful and worthy of love.

A punch on my shoulder jerks me back to reality, and I'm faced with one of my annoying co-workers, one of those whose name I always forget.

"Hey there Eddie, wazzup? Buying flowers for the missus?"

"Yeah… " I mumble, quickly reaching for my wallet so I can get out of there.

"You've been out doing the nasty, too? Dude, my wifey found an earring in my car last night, and let me tell you – it did NOT belong to her! I told her it was one of my co-workers, who lost it on the way to a meeting. I'm not sure if she bought it, so I need to butter her up a bit. But let me tell you, none of the girls at the office have cheap earrings like that!" He boasts with laughter, strangely proud of the fact that he's nearly been caught cheating, and reaches for whatever flowers are closest. I shake my head at him, which he interprets as some kind of appreciation, and raises his hand to high-five me.

I cock my eyebrows at him, and as he lowers his hand again I turn to the cashier, taking my receipt and thanking her for her help before I turn back to the annoying man.

"You know, I buy flowers for my wife because I love her. Maybe you should try that, sometime. Loving your wife, I mean. Not buying flowers that have no real meaning."

I pat his shoulder as I walk past him.

_Poor wife._

When I get back into my car, I take out the envelope from my briefcase and finger it for a few seconds. Inside it is the letter to Bella, with the words I wanted to say to her this morning, and things I've noticed about her lately. I'm still not sure when to give it to her, but I guess I'll figure it out. I attach it to the flowers, and head home.

Kate and Benji runs to greet me in the hallway as I enter the door. I can smell food cooking in the kitchen, and when I turn the corner I see Bella by the stove, an apron on, stirring a casserole. I walk up beside her and peek over her shoulder.

"Mmm, smells nice. What is it?"

"It's a casserole. Here, you want to taste?" She takes a spoon, fills it with food and blows on it to cool it down before turning to me and holding it up. I open my mouth and she feeds it to me, gingerly, so she won't spill on my suit.

"What do you think?"

"It's great, of course. It always is," I answer her sincerely. "Oh, that reminds me… I have something for you."

I hold the flowers out, but realize too late that I forgot to take the wrapping off. I blush and take them back.

"Hold on, let me take this off…" I stammer, but she takes it from me with a smile.

"No need to. I can do it myself, you know." She removes the paper and gasps when she sees the tulips inside.

"Oh, Edward! These are beautiful! I love parrot tulips, how did you know?"

"Uhm, I didn't. I just thought they fitted, you know… They reminded of you."

"Awww… That's so sweet, thank you!" She leans into me and kisses me, and I'm pleased with myself for picking the right ones.

_And there it is, again. Her smile._

She is smiling. I hadn't realized how long it had been since she'd done that, but when I saw her smile not long ago it dawned on me that I couldn't even remember when I last saw her really happy. It made me feel horrible. I had had a sad wife for God knows how long, and I hadn't even tried to make it better. Instead I gave her shit, or yelled at the kids, or just watched TV and tuned her out. But I'm a better man now, and she's smiling again.

She walks to the living room, getting a vase for the flowers, and when she comes back her eyes fall on the envelope still lying in the flower wrapping. Her steps falter slightly, and she puts the vase down before hesitantly taking the envelope. She turns to me, her eyebrows slightly furrowed. I feel myself blush again, like a little school boy being caught slipping his first love letter to the object of his infatuation.

"That's just… You don't have to read it now, if you don't want to," I murmur.

"Is this… Do I have something to be worried about?" she asks, biting her lip.

"Hell no, not at all. It's just that I feel a little embarrassed about it. It seemed like a good idea earlier, but I'm going to die if you read it while I'm here," I explain. I hear how stupid it sounds, but it's the truth. Her eyes meet mine, and she nods softly before she puts the flowers in the vase, placing the envelope back in the bouquet.

I exhale in relief. I like that she looks me in the eyes again. She used to avoid that, but now she talks to me and looks at me at the same time. She's a lot more in the present, and it was a long time ago that she disappeared into that bubble of hers. It used to scare me whenever she did that. She's told me it was a way to escape from things, and I understand that, but it was creepy. It seemed like she had this invisible shield around her, and it was impossible to get through. When she was in that frame of mind, her eyes lost all light. They looked dead. They don't anymore. They are alive again.

Dinner is great, as usual. I notice her eyes constantly being drawn towards the flowers and the letter, and she smiles every time. It makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside.

The rest of the evening goes by, the kids are behaving, Bella is happy, and small talk is easy. It's a good ending to the day. We are both tired since last night didn't offer a whole lot of sleep, so we make it an early night. I'm in bed before Bella, as she spends some time in the bathroom washing her face, peeling and moisturizing and whatever stuff it is that women do before they go to bed. I wonder briefly if she'll be up for some sexy times, but decide to leave it. I'm way too tired, anyway, and I'm still more than satisfied after last night. I think about her reaction to my touches, and how she wanted me to be rougher, firmer.

_I can do that.__ I like rough… But how rough is too rough? And to be honest, I also like the light touching. I enjoy the sensation in my fingers._

I still haven't really gotten the hang of how to do it the right way. I've understood that the light touches feel uncomfortable, but I still don't get why. I'm more than a little turned on by the fact that she likes the more firm approach, but I'm afraid I'll hurt her and I think I'm still doing it wrong because of that sometimes.

The fact that I _can_ touch her now, however, is mind-blowing. I have missed that so much, and the calm I feel from touching her makes me realize that having to refrain from it has been partly responsible for my extremely bad temper the last years. It's not like me acting like an ass made her more eager for me to touch her. I kind of dug my own hole there. I have changed, too, fortunately. I'm not angry all the time, and I think that makes it easier for her to relax.

Bella slides down under her duvet and I scoot over to her side. We're not really spooning, but I'm lying close enough that I can put my hand on her hip. She lets it rest there, and I close my eyes with a smile. I could never touch her like this, in bed, before. Even the non-sexual kind of touch made her curl up in a ball and hyperventilate. I can do it now, though. I don't think she's aware of it, but for the last weeks I've been able to touch her for a while almost every night before we go to sleep. I like to be physically connected to her as I fall asleep; it's soothing and feels safe. I know it's not the same for her, but she can handle it now.

I know she can't relax enough with my hand there, and I know she'll lie awake, waiting for me to fall asleep, until she'll remove my hand and turn to her side again, taking her sleeping position. That has changed too, by the way. She used to sleep curled up in foetal position, her duvet wrapped tight around her like a cocoon. She still does the cocoon thing, but doesn't curl up like that anymore. She sleeps in a more open position now, with one leg stretched out and the other one bent, like she doesn't feel the need to protect herself anymore.

Just as I start drifting off, I feel her hand grasping mine, putting it down on the bed beside her. I roll over to my side, and hear her silently rise from the bed and pad out of our bedroom. Before I fall asleep, I think of the letter I wrote and I hope she understands what I'm trying to say:

Bella has changed, and I'm proud of her.


	27. Diagnoses and Disorders

**Stephenie Meyer owns Edward and Bella, of course. I like to make them human and grown up. Thank you FangMom and Netracullen for being awesome beta's, and thank you DreamersDaze for helping me out with the psychological stuff. Also, than YOU for reading and reviewing! You are all awesome.**

**Please take the time to read, review and vote in FTLOW contest: ****http : / / www . fanfiction . net/~fortheloveofwomencontest**

* * *

_**Diagnoses and Disorders**_

The floor is cold against the soles of my feet as I pad out in the hallway. I sneak into the bathroom and close the door before switching the lights on, so the light won't spread out in the hallway and in through the bedroom door slit. I think Edward's asleep, and I don't want to wake him up. I search for my slippers on the bathroom floor and find them under a pile of dirty laundry; kid's clothes, Edward's tees and my jeans in one big tangled mess. I lift it up and throw it in the laundry basket, wondering how it's so hard for us to just lift the lid and put it in there, instead of leaving it on the floor. I'm as much to blame for it as the rest of the family; I do the same thing every time. I take the robe from the hook and wrap it around my body, revelling in the warm, soft fabric.

The bouquet of parrot tulips looks unreal in the moonlight slanting through the window. The red appears to be black in the dusk, giving me an eerie feeling. The letter from Edward is still stuck in between the flowers, and I gingerly take it out. My name is written on it in block letters, black if I remember correctly, but it's hard to tell in this faint light. I snicker as I recognize the envelope, it's from his office and I realize he's been giving this more thought than just a few lines scrabbled down at a card in the flower shop. It scares me and makes me giddy at the same time, because this means it's something significant, something important, and I don't know how I'll react to it or if – how – it will change things.

My hands tremble as I open the envelope, cutting my finger on it in the process. The sting clears my head, and the taste of blood in my mouth grounds me, as I suck on it to stop the blood flow. It's making me feel attached to reality again. I reach for the switch, and as the kitchen is bathed in light again the flowers are back to their original colourful state. My name is written in black, just as I remembered, and a drop of blood colours the envelope red, mimicking the tulips, and somehow reminding me of the tale of Snow White.

_White as snow, red as blood, black as ebony.__ Why does that make me weepy? I'm being silly._

The bleeding has subsided, and I fish out the paper and sit down. My heart races as I unfold it, and I close my eyes briefly, bracing myself before starting to read.

Word for word I devour, fast the first time, and then slower the second. The third time I memorize them, the fourth I'm internalizing them and making them a part of me. I stay seated on the chair after I've finished. I don't know for how long I sit there, but I do know it's getting cold after a while. The slippers aren't warming my feet anymore, my fingers are freezing and my body is shivering. My cheeks are wet, and it makes my face feel cold. My joints creak as I move, and I'm suddenly overwhelmed with longing. I want to be back in bed, under the covers, warming my body against Edward's. I put the letter in the envelope, stick it in the bouquet again, and switch the light off as I walk out from the kitchen. I turn around and look at the tulips in the moonlight. They are back to their black and white state, but the eeriness is gone.

I pad into the bedroom and slide out of my robe, letting it fall to the floor before sitting down on the bed. I hear Edward breathe evenly behind me and listen to him for a while before sliding down under my duvet. It is cold, all the warmth from before is gone. I shudder and crawl closer to Edward, bringing my duvet with me and sliding under his. His breath hitches as I put my cold arms around him, and I still for a second, trying not to disturb his sleep too much. A low hum escapes his lips, and his breathing goes back to normal. I take the opportunity to align my body with his, pressing my chest against his back and entangling our legs. His warm skin touches mine, slowly thawing the coldness that is my body, my heart and my mind. I catch hold of his hand and lace my fingers into his, and fall into a dreamless sleep with my nose buried in the curls of his hair, inhaling his familiar scent.

Sometime during the night it gets too hot for me, and I scoot over to my side of the bed. Edward follows, keeping his arm around my waist, and I don't mind it being there. We stay like that until then sun sneaks its rays around the sides of the curtains and the sound of Spongebob Squarepants echoes from the living room.

Edward yawns and stretches, and stills in surprise as he realizes he's lying on my side of the bed. We're still spooning, our legs are intertwined and my bottom is pressed against him. I feel an erection coming to life, twitching against my cheeks. He scoots back, away from me, and I know it's because he doesn't want me to feel any pressure. His consideration makes me feel quilty and thankful at the same time.

I turn around and follow him to his side of the bed, hitching my leg over him, catching his erection in the crook of my knees. He feels warm and hard against me, and I can't help but move my leg a little, just to feel the velvety skin against mine. I put my head on his shoulder, embarrassingly aware of my morning breath and trying to angle my head so he won't notice. As I sneak my arm over his chest in search for his hand, I end up stroking his arm instead. I trail my fingers along his biceps up to his shoulder, down across his collarbone and through the soft hair on his chest. As my hand still on him, his free hand seeks my arm, caressing me slowly. I wonder what to say to him. I know he has figured out I read the letter last night, and I know he's waiting for me to say something. I don't know what to say, so I start with the most mundane thing I can come up with.

"So, did you sleep well?"

"Yes, I did. Did you?" he asks, his voice still hoarse from sleep.

"Yes."

Silence falls again, and I bite my lip, trying to figure out how to continue. Edward gives me an opening as he clears his throat and raises his voice again.

"So, did it take long for you to fall asleep last night?"

I know what he's fishing for. He wants to know what I think about the letter, but is beating around the bush. I smile a bit, because he's as bad at communicating as I am, but still my voice wavers as I answer, and still I can't give him a straight answer to what I know he's _really_ asking me.

"Uhm… Yeah, a bit. I didn't check the time when I got back to bed, though."

"So you were up?" he prods.

"You know I was, Edward," I whisper into his chest. I swallow hard before I continue.

"Thank you. It was beautiful."

He's quiet for a while before answering.

"It's true, you know."

"It is? I mean, I know I've changed, but I always feel it's not enough. I still have set-backs. Sometimes I get those feelings again, the panic and anxiety, and it's so frustrating. I'm not doing this fast enough," I say with a sigh.

"What do you mean, not fast enough? You can't force these things, Bella. It happens when it happens, and you can't expect it to change overnight. Give yourself credit for what you've done so far. I really am proud of you, and you really have changed." He emphasizes his final sentence and ends it by giving me a kiss on my forehead. I tap my fingers against his chest as I answer.

"I know… I just feel bad for you, you know? You're caught in the middle of this, you're the one getting hurt because I have issues, and that's not fair."

"Well…" he says hesitantly, searching for words, before continuing. "Since I love you, it's my responsibility to help you get through it. That's what it means, the whole 'in sickness and in health' thing. And you've been hurting because of me, too, so I'm as bad as you are in that regard. Don't make yourself the bad guy in this, Bella. We've done things to hurt each other, yes, but at least you had issues and couldn't really help it. I was just being a jerk. There's no excuse for that." He snorts and shakes his head in disapproval, and I feel the need to defend him.

"I don't think you were being a jerk. You just didn't know what was happening, and I didn't explain either. Well, even I didn't know what was happening, but still… Maybe there's no one to blame. Maybe it's no one's fault, not yours and not mine, it's just a series of bad coincidences and lack of communication. And that, we can fix. Right?" I say, trying to sound confident.

"Right. Communication. So, are we doing well on the communication thing now?" he asks.

"I think we're doing better than before, but I know I still suck at it." I laugh a little, because I really do suck at it.

"I'm no expert either. I had to write you a goddamned letter because I couldn't get the words out," he snickers.

"Yeah… It was a good letter, though. It made me happy."

"That's good. Then I'm happy, too."

We stay in bed for a while, snuggling and talking, until Benji throws the door wide open and jumps onto our bed. He crawls up and presses his small body between ours, pushing us apart so he can fit in there. Kate soon follows, sliding down under my duvet behind me. She takes a strand of my hair and twirls it around her fingers, just like she did when she was younger. It feels good, lying there in the middle of my family. It feels safe, and I'm happy.

Saturday and Sunday pass, and sooner than I'd like it is Monday again. Before we know it we're back in the boring everyday life that consists of racing through breakfast, leaving kids off at pre-school and kindergarten, working our asses off, picking kids up again, eating dinner and then falling into a coma on the couch for a few hours until we drag ourselves to bed. So many times before I have wondered if there shouldn't be more to life than this, but at least now we're doing it together. I don't feel all alone anymore, and to be honest, when you have company the everyday rot is not so bad. As the week passes by, I realize more and more that maybe this is life. I've felt I want it to be more, but when I think of it I can't pinpoint what "more" is. I don't know what exactly I'm missing, and it occurs to me that maybe, just maybe, I'm not missing much at all. Maybe I already have it; I just haven't been paying attention.

Lines and phrases from Edward's letter keep popping up in my head from time to time. It feels good to know that he notices the difference, because I honestly have difficulties seeing it from time to time. When he points it out I see it's there, but I don't feel the changes inside are fast enough or deep enough. I'm frustrated with myself and my inadequacies, but instead of making me feel overwhelmed and fall back into anger and anxiety, it makes me want to work harder. I guess that's a sign of change, though.

Thursday's appointment with Emily is getting closer, and I'm finding myself looking forward to it. I have progress to report, and I'm happy about that. I have some questions for her, because I still don't get why I have been acting and reacting in such weird ways, even before I met Edward. Looking back at my past now, as it is finally out in the open, I see how dysfunctional it was. I don't quite understand why I did all those things. It doesn't make sense to me.

I walk impatiently back and forth in the waiting room until she opens the door and invites me in, and it's with relief that I sink down into my regular chair.

"Hello Bella, it's nice seeing you again. How have you been since last week?" she asks in her usual manner. I'm eager to get started and get straight to the point.

"Good, I guess. I think I've made some progress, but some things are still hard for me. It's frustrating, because I feel I don't change fast enough"

"Why do you say that? You've made progress, isn't that good enough for you? It's normal for these things to take some time."

"It's just… I like to do well. Normal is not good enough. I should be able to do better and just… get my act together, you know? Now, I hear how that sounds, and I guess you were right about me being an over-achiever. I have high expectations on myself. Maybe too high, I get that, but I'm not sure I can change."

"Okay, I hear you. I think we'll have to talk about this more. Are there other things that you are having trouble with?" Emily asks.

"Uh… The sex-part," I mumble, suddenly blushing furiously. I'm not sure this is something I'm allowed to discuss with a therapist. Surely people's sex life is not their field of work, and I'm afraid I've crossed some kind of line. Although I did talk about it last time, even if most of that was in past tense.

"I see. That's not an uncommon thing to come up in therapy, Bella. You're not the only couple having issues when it comes to sex," she simply says, sounding like it's no big deal at all. It makes me feel a bit more secure, but I'm still embarrassed. She knows my husband, for God's sake. I'm about to tell her things about a man she's met, and will meet again.

"Really? I thought… Well, I thought that was just us."

"Actually, it's not. It's more common that you'd think, but that's not something you talk about. The idea of the happy marriage is too embedded in all of us, and acknowledging that it's not always happy is very taboo in our society. But trust me when I tell you you're not alone," she assures me.

"Okay. I just… _I _don't make sense to me. I was this person before, who I told you about last time, and that person had no problem with sex. Okay, I'll admit the things I did weren't very healthy, but still I had sex and I enjoyed it most of the times. So why is it that I can't seem to remember how to even do it now? For a long time I didn't even want to do it, I panicked when Edward touched me, sometimes even if I _thought_ he might want sex. It freaked me out if he looked at me in a certain way. And I don't get why!"

I throw my arms out in exasperation. Emily taps her fingers against her lips before she answers me with a question, in true therapist manner.

"Hmm… Have you any thoughts at all about why this might be?"

"No. I just know that I had a lot of sex, I needed it and even if I felt bad afterwards the actual sex was such a rush. And I know that now I'm almost afraid of it and don't even know how to do it."

"Okay… Taking all the things you've told me into consideration, I have some ideas. It's very important that you understand that this is just suggestions. There is no way for me to give you a correct answer to this, only you can find that out. What I _can_ do is give you some thoughts, based on my experience as a therapist, on what might be the reasons for it. Those thoughts are not the truth. They are only ideas, a way to look at it and maybe see some sense in it."

"I understand. Ideas are good, because I have none." I want her to tell me what's wrong with me. I want her to say something that makes sense to me, because I like logical and rational, and I don't think there is anything logical or rational about myself at the moment.

"Right. There are a few different ways to look at your problems. One you have already touched upon when we've talked about it before. It's connected to guilt for doing someone wrong, as in cheating on your first boyfriend, and then finding different ways to punish yourself for it, as seen in your relationship with James. The way he treated you may very well have built up the insecurity about sex and how to make love, and in combination with the depression after childbirth these insecurities came back. But there is also something else to take into consideration, I feel.

You've described your past as wanting – or maybe needing – lots of casual sex and getting almost high on the experience, but you've also mentioned emptiness and feelings of being worthless afterwards. It seems to me like you couldn't refrain from these sexual encounters even though you sometimes knew they were risky or harmful. You said that you tried to convince yourself and others that you didn't have a problem. You've described feelings that I interpret as depression even before you had children. As I've told you before, it also sounds to me like you have low self-esteem and that you are also an over-achiever. It sounds like you feel anxious when you're not in control of your environment or your feelings. Am I correct in this, or do you feel I have gotten it wrong?"

I shake my head. It's not very fun to hear, but she's spot on.

"Why do you shake your head?" she asks. "Do you mean that I'm _not_ correct, or that I _haven't_ gotten it wrong?"

"I'm sorry. I meant that no, you haven't gotten it wrong. I just have bad communication skills…" I wave my hands dismissively, wanting her to continue.

"Well, that's good then. Now here's what I think: all those things are often seen in people with addictive behaviours, Bella. There are certain factors that increase the risk of turning to an addictive behaviour when you're dealing with emotions that are hard to handle. Depression, anxiety from feeling not in control, and low self-esteem are some of them.

It's important that you understand this is merely my interpretation of the things you've told me. It's not necessarily the truth, and there might be other things that you haven't told me that could change the way I look at it. Do you understand that, and are there more things you want to tell me?"

I nod, and then correct myself by saying the words out loud this time.

"Yes, I understand. No, I don't think there is more to tell you."

"Let me explain. When you are under a lot of pressure, whether it is internal or external, you find ways to deal with it, to cope. Some people do this in unhealthy ways. Some turn to alcohol, drugs, gambling… some turn to self-harm like cutting themselves, or eating disorders, and some turn to sex. The behaviour I'm most familiar with is eating disorder, so I'm going to make a few comparisons to that. Binge eating is a way to deal with anxiety, but afterwards you're filled with self-loathing and you hate yourself. But binging felt good, it made it easier and pushed the anxiety away for a while, so the next time you feel bad you do it again. And you hate yourself afterwards, again.

To me, this sounds a lot like you. Only you didn't binge on food, you binged on sex instead, and afterwards you felt bad but didn't know any other way to deal with your emotions. Now, let's go back to the eating disorders. Some people are anorexic with bulimic tendencies. In these cases, you alternate between anorexic and bulimic periods. During the anorexic periods you can feel a strong anxiety when you see food, or even think about eating. This sounds a lot like you, as well. In your "between binges" period, which you could call the one you have been going through recently, you react to sex, or even the idea of sex, with anxiety. Just like an anorexic will have to learn how to eat again, you have to learn how to make love again.

So I feel that there are several layers to your issues, and I think they are connected to each other. I don't think it's as easy as saying "you got depressed after child birth". I think it is more complex than that. Like I mentioned, depression often coexists with other diagnoses, sexual compulsivity being one of them. I think that you have been depressed for a longer time than you think, and that you tried to deal with it by turning to an addictive behaviour. Having earlier depressions also increases the risks of getting PPD.

Does any of the things I've just said make sense, or do you think I'm completely out of line?"

I realize she's once again phrased her question so a simple nod or shake isn't answer enough.

"It's a bit much to take in… But somehow I recognize a lot in what you said. I mean… When I think back, I sort of did that binging thing, and even though I felt horrible afterwards I did it again. Sometimes I did it to feel loved, sometimes I wanted to forget, sometimes I wanted to just feel nothing at all, and sometimes I wanted to punish myself. That sounds seriously messed up, though. Not that I didn't know I'm messed up, I just… I didn't think it had been for so long. But I guess it has. I've never seen myself as the depressed type though. I have a hard time connecting that to the image I have of _me_. Other people were depressed, not me. And I always thought being depressed would, I don't know… show? I always made an effort to be happy and outgoing, but at the same time… It makes sense. Can you be depressed but not really know it yourself?"

"Yes, Bella, you can. It's common that you believe it's something that you should be able to handle by yourself, and sometimes you don't really feel depressed. It took some time for you to realize that's what you were after childbirth, right?"

"I… Yeah it did. Point taken. So what now?" I ask her, not really knowing what to do with all this new information.

"Well, we have some things to work with, and it's up to you how you want to do it. Some people choose therapy, and others choose to combine that with medication. We haven't really discussed medication yet, but that is of course an option. It may take the edge off the anxiety you're experiencing, and make it easier to cope. It's important to know that it may have some physical side effects such as sleep difficulties, nausea and sexual problems, and it may also make you feel less like yourself. I'm not sure that medication would be beneficial for you, though. You have been doing a lot of progress on your own."

I purse my lips and think for a while before answering. The idea of getting easy help, even if it is artificial through medication, is alluring. But it also scares me.

"I don't think I want medication anyway. I realize it may be very helpful when you're at your worst, but I think I'm past that now. And I'm afraid that with medication, I wouldn't know if the changes I made really were my own, or if it was just the meds. That's the over-achiever in me speaking, by the way. I'd doubt myself. I want to be sure that the things I feel are real, not a chemical reaction to a drug. Also, the sexual problems as a side effect? Uhm, I'm not that interested. I have problems enough with that already, thank you very much." I snicker a bit.

"I think that's a good choice, and that's what I'd recommend as a professional as well, seeing as you've gotten far on your own. I had to ask, though, and had you gotten here earlier during your depression I might have made a different call."

"Okay. So do we just keep seeing each other like we've been doing, or do I have to change therapist?"

"Oh no, of course you don't have to change. Not unless you want to. We'll be setting up more appointments and work from there. It's important to me that you decide what you want from it, so we can make a treatment plan. Do you need to delve further into understanding the reasons behind your depressions and behaviour, or do you want to look forward and learn how to change your way of thinking, finding healthy coping techniques, and move on? I need to know this, so I can help you. It's also important to discuss to what degree you want Edward to take part in it, and how much you want to do on your own. You are still a couple, and whatever you're going through is affecting him as well, so he needs to be in the loop at least," she concludes.

I nod at her, because I'm going to need his help in this. I really want him to be in the loop.

_He's __been out of it for way too long._


	28. Gaining Grounds and Losing Orgasms

**Thanks for still being with me on this story. I have an anniversary coming up soon - one year since I posted the prologue of this story, one year of escalating addiction to writing and recieving reviews. I seriously have no idea how I will manage without that, because I've turned into such an attention h00r... Now, this was supposed to be the last chapter. Turns out the story did not agree. Maybe the next one will be?**

**Thanks to FangMom for being my awesome beta. Thanks to Stephenie Meyer, who obviously owns Twilight.**

**

* * *

**

_**Gaining Grounds and Losing Orgasms**_

My mind is reeling on the way home. Thoughts and questions are swirling in my head, emotions are rushing through my body and I'm having trouble sorting them all out. I stop by the local coffee shop, order a latte and sit down beside the window.

I'd never considered myself as being depressed back then. It wasn't in my world to be depressed. I made such an effort to be the care-free, happy, fun-loving girl. To me, that doesn't sound depressive. Or does it? If I'm honest, the way I made myself appear on the outside didn't always match the way I felt inside. I remember a lot of times when I laughed and flirted, but on the inside I felt sad. I swirl the cup slowly, watching the liquid rotate in there, creating a small beige vortex of milk, espresso and foam.

As I think back, trying to remember not only my actions but also my feelings, I see a pattern emerge. I see Bella feeling sad, angry, out of control, confused. Then I see Bella putting on a flirty face and finding herself a man, momentarily forgetting the overwhelming feelings. After that, I see Bella go home and cry, or twitch and turn in bed, not able to sleep the rest of the night. And then I see Bella doing the exact same thing again, and again, and again.

It does make sense. In a way it's even a logical explanation. That eating disorder comparison Emily made, it was spot on. It was almost like an addiction, and I really did binge sex. Pair that with the guilt, the self inflicted punishment… It's all tangled up in one giant mess, but somehow I can see how the different issues have been feeding off each other, making it worse.

My weird reactions to touches and sex, even the idea of sex, seem almost rational, when I look at it that way. It was like some kind of sexual anorexia. When Edward looked at me I freaked out, because I was so convinced that those kinds of looks from a man meant he wanted sex, and that I was expected to deliver. Of course that's not true. It's absurd to think a man wants sex just because he looks at you, just like it's absurd to think you'll get fat just because you eat an apple.

_Huh. Imagine that. For the first time __since… well, since I can remember, __**I**__ actually make sense to me. I get myself. I may be seriously screwed up, but at least I understand it now._

I raise my eyes and look around the coffee shop. I've never really noticed what this place looks like, I usually just stop by for a quick coffee before hurrying on to the next place I need to be. It's a nice place. The mixture of old, odd tables and couches gives it a homey feeling. The people in here are mostly alone, like I am, and they are reading books or newspapers. I see a woman in her forties in a corner, typing furiously at a computer, but otherwise it's quiet. A girl puts down her book and gets up to order another coffee, and I realize how long it has been since I've read something other than the newspaper. I miss that. Reading used to be my favourite pastime, and now I can't even remember what book I last read. I shake my head.

_Why don't I read anymore?_

I want to come back here, sink down in an old arm chair and dive into a book, forgetting reality for a while and just pretending to be someone else. Then I remember that there is nothing to stop me from doing that. If I want to, I can do it. I smile to myself, down the rest of my coffee and head back to the car.

_Yes, I can come back here.__ I'll even bring a book._

Edward is already at home with the kids, and he helps me set the table as I make dinner. We make small talk, and I tell him a little about therapy. I'm not entirely comfortable with telling him about the conclusions Emily made and how they make sense to me, so I decide to leave that to her for the next time we see her as a couple.

I dip my finger in the sauce, taste it, and decide it needs something more. I take out a jar from the fridge, and Edward instantly tries to take it from me.

"Here, let me open it."

I pull it away from him.

"No, I can open it myself."

"Come on Bella; let me help you with that. It's just a jar, for crying out loud."

"Yes, exactly. It's just a jar. And I want to open it myself."

He scoffs at me and mumbles something about me being an over-achiever, and I press my lips together to refrain from saying something stupid. I take a teaspoon from the kitchen drawer, wedge it in under the lid and press it down. The vacuum under the lid disappears with a popping sound, and I screw it off easily.

"See? I can manage on my own. And if wanting to be able to take care of myself makes me an over-achiever, then so be it."

"And I still think it's silly."

I shake my head at him, simultaneously annoyed and amused by him.

"I know you get annoyed when I won't let you help me. But I want to know that I can manage on my own, that I'm not dependent on someone. I don't like feeling vulnerable, and if I need someone to help me with everyday things, then I would be in trouble if I ended up alone."

I shut my mouth quickly.

_Where did that come from?_

Edward stares at me.

"Why on earth do you think you'd end up alone? It sounds like you're preparing to be left. That's just… insane."

I shake my head again, at myself this time, but I'm definitely not amused by myself. I want to change topics.

"Of course I'm not. Not now, at least. I thought you might leave me before, but not anymore. But that's not the point. It makes me feel vulnerable and incompetent and I don't like it."

I add a teaspoon from the jar, taste the food again and put the lid back on. Edward purses his lips and regards me for a minute, before swatting my behind lightly.

"You're a weird woman, you know that, right?"

"Yeah. I know. Sorry." I grin at him.

Dinner and putting kids to bed runs smoothly, and we work together without any major mishaps. It feels more and more like we're actually a team, and that's a nice feeling. When we lie in bed that night I tell him about the coffee shop, and how much I miss reading books. He listens to me, randomly massaging my back with one hand, as I lie on my stomach talking. Reading books is a "just Bella" thing. It's a simple thing, but it's something that I'd do just for me, and no one else. I think I need that, and I think he gets why.

His hand keeps working my back, pressing tense spots along my spine, and it feels safe and good. I fall quiet as he gets lower down, and when he massages the area just above my bottom I feel a current running from his hands to between my legs. I reflexively lift my hips up, meeting his hand, and he pauses briefly.

"Bella, do you want to…" He leaves the question hanging in the air, and I nod quietly because yes, I think that I maybe want to, and I'm afraid that if I don't run with it right away I'm going to over think it, and then it won't happen.

He scoots over, placing himself behind me, grabbing my hips and lifting my ass up. I use my arms for leverage and push against him, glad that I'm not feeling anxious about it, and thankful that I'm not facing him, because this makes it easier for some reason. I can't see him like this, and despite how weird that may sound, it still takes some pressure off.

As he slowly pushes himself inside me I remember that I enjoy this position. It feels nice, in a very feral way, but I know from experience it's not "orgasm-friendly". Edward spreads my legs wider and thrusts into me, and I feel a pang of pain when he hits deep. I moan and arch my back a little, trying to create a different angle so it won't hurt. Edward misreads my sounds as pleasure, and reaches down between my legs, massaging me with one hand and holding my hip with the other. I know he's getting closer, and I know from his furious rubbing that he wants me to come with him. I search desperately for that feeling inside, but all I can focus on is keeping my balance and trying to parry his deep thrusts.

_Please God, let me come__ standing like this. Just this once. Please._

But nothing happens, of course. It never does like this. I feel my legs starting to give, because I'm not strong enough for that position, and as he pushes against me I finally fall down on the bed. He follows behind, pushing me into the mattress, before pulling out and sitting back, panting heavily. I debate quickly whether or not I should turn around. I still have hopes for an orgasm and I know he wants me to come, so I turn on my back and spread my legs, inviting him in. He hovers above me, his face close to mine, and I close my eyes as the intimacy gets too intense for me. I want to watch, I want to do this with my eyes open, but I just can't. I turn my head to the side, exposing my neck to him, and he bends down to nibble it as he pushes himself inside me again.

I stretch my legs out, finding the position I know is most likely to bring me to the edge. He knows what I want and raises his body an inch, giving me enough space to reach down and touch myself. With the darkness behind my eyelids I can focus on the feeling of him inside of me and my fingers on the outside, massaging that spot Edward was trying to reach before. I feel something stir deep inside, slowly waking up, and I feel the muscles in my legs tighten as it gets closer.

"Bella, open your eyes." Edward's strained voice floats through the air and breaks into my fragile frame of mind. I feel my impending orgasm wavering a bit, faltering in her steps, and I decide to keep my eyes closed and keep trying.

"I want to see your eyes, Bella. I want you to look at me."

I open my eyes, and the building sexual tension in my body fades away as I fail to both look at him and keep my focus on the feeling.

_Shit. Shit, shit, shit._

I quickly close my eyes again, searching for the dawning orgasm that I'm now about to lose, but it's slipping away quickly and in a second it's gone. I know my body, and I know it won't come back this time.

Resigning to the fact that I won't get off this time, I open my eyes again and meet his. The closeness is still difficult for me, and I struggle against the impulse to shut my eyes and hide from him. I lift my legs and wrap them around his body, because I know he loves when I do that. I press my heels against his ass, pushing him into me, and keep my eyes locked with his until he reaches his peak and falls down on me, spent.

"Oh my God, that was intense," he whispers between his deep breaths. I nod, not really sure what to say. His weight is getting uncomfortable, and I squirm under him. He rolls off me, and falls back down on the bed with his arms spread. I watch him as his chest rises and falls, violently at first and then calmer after a while.

I'm a bit disappointed in myself for not getting all the way, but in the greater scheme of things it doesn't really matter. We had sex, and I was okay with it. I was a bit uncomfortable for a while, but I still enjoyed it and that makes me happy. I'm pleased that for once I could give Edward this without feeling much anxiety, and not having an orgasm is not a major problem for me right now. I didn't always have them before, anyway, so it's really no difference at all. I'm not sure Edward knows that, though. I was pretty good at hiding it. I guess I always figured I should be able to come, and if I didn't, I faked it. It dawns on me that I, by doing that, also added to the pressure I already felt when it came to sex.

_How stupid of me._

"Hey…" Edward turns towards me with an inquisitive look on his face. "You didn't… you never came."

"Nah, but I don't mind." I shrug.

"I do. Did I do something wrong? Wasn't it good for you?" he asks.

"It was good, I just… It just didn't work this time."

"Oh come on, let me try!" He scoots over and slides his hand down my stomach, between my legs. I squirm and pull back, grabbing his hand and pushing it away.

"No, Edward. Don't."

He pauses and looks at me. I see the wheels turning in his head, thoughts tumbling around and probably not making any sense to him. In another life, I would have let him, and if I couldn't get all the way I would have pretended, to get it over with and to make him happy. But I think that's not the right way to do it. It's counterproductive.

"But why? I could always make you come before." He furrows his brows.

_I do not want to have this conversation now…_

"Well… No."

_No… I did not just say that._

"What do you mean, no?" He raises his eyebrows at me.

_Can I get out of this?_

_No, I can't._

_Crap._

"I couldn't always come before." I pause, trying to find the words to express this without hurting him. "But that's not your fault, that's just the way it is."

"No, it _is_ my fault! A good man should be able to give his woman an orgasm!" he exclaims.

This is exactly the reason I didn't want to tell him. It's really not his fault, but I know he'll start blaming himself, and then he'll probably get even more resolute that he's going to make me come. I sigh heavily.

"No, Edward, it doesn't work that way. I know I've lead you to believe that, and trust me, I'm sorry, but it's only in pornos and fiction that women are able to have mind-blowing orgasms in every position. In real life, that doesn't happen. In real life, it takes more than a little rubbing in the general direction of the clitoris, and sometimes it's just not there. That doesn't mean it's bad, though. It can still feel good, and sexy, and wonderful, but not just… orgasm-wonderful."

He falls onto his back again, staring into the ceiling. I don't know if I should go on, but I can't stop myself and just keep talking.

"Like just now, for example. I know I've never told you this, but I need to really concentrate on the feeling if I want an orgasm. I can't do that if I'm on my knees trying to not fall over. I can't do that if I lie with my legs up in the air. And I can't do that if I need to focus on looking you in the eyes. That doesn't mean I don't like to do those things. I do like them. But I can't get off like that. There's no use in even trying. And when the feeling is lost, it's lost. It doesn't come back. So no, I don't want you to go down on me and try, because I'll most likely feel the need to fake it again to get you to stop, because I don't want to hurt your feelings by telling you to get off me."

_Like saying what I did __just now wouldn't hurt his feelings… _

_Shit._

He turns around, leaving me to talk to his back. I reach my hand out, touching his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Edward… That was insensitive of me. I shouldn't have said that."

He huffs at me. "No, don't be sorry. It's good to know that I've failed all those times I thought I gave you pleasure."

His voice is dripping with sarcasm, and I curse myself for ruining the evening by deciding to be honest.

"No, not every time… Shit. Just sometimes, okay? Come on… You don't have to be a sex god. No man is; that's only in pornos and fiction, too. Reality is not like that. And I know a lot of women don't orgasm every time. I know we all have positions that don't work at all, and some positions that are more likely to succeed. But still, there is no guarantee. Sometimes it's just not there, and I can't force it. I'm sorry."

I hold my breath waiting for his response. I feel like crap for telling him this. He's thought for so long that he's always giving me pleasure, that he knows how to make me orgasm, and now he hears that's not true. He must be sad and angry at me for deceiving him like that, and I'm angry at myself too. I'm angry at myself for not telling him this before, _and_ for telling him now. I realize the absurdity in that, but it doesn't stop me from feeling that way.

"I feel like I'm not enough of a man." He pouts.

I sigh.

"I know, honey. I'm sorry. But believe me, you're all the man I need you to be. It has nothing to do with orgasms. It's about all the other stuff. Do you remember in therapy, when I said felt like a bad wife because we never had sex, and you said being a good wife had nothing to do with sex? That applies to you, too. I don't need orgasms from you. I can fix that on my own if I feel like it. I need you to be here for me, and help me get through all those weird issues I have, because _that_ I can't do on my own. You know how much I hate needing help from someone, but with that… I really do need help. So to me, that you're still here despite… despite me being _me_, that's being enough of a man."

He rubs his face and turns to me.

_Yes! Finally._

His eyes are red-rimmed, and it stings when I realize I made him cry. I swallow and reach for him, and he crawls over to me. I put my arm around him, and he lays his head down on my shoulder and hitches his leg over mine. I feel the hair on his thighs tickle the soft skin on my legs – _creamy, he called my skin creamy last week_ – and I hug him closer. There is no expectation of sex floating in the air, no threatening tension in my body, and no pressure.

There is just us, trying to mend things we're not even sure how we broke in the first place.


	29. The Beginning and the End

**So, I guess this is it. The last chapter. See A/N Below.**

**Thank you to the betas who have helped me with this story, especially FangMom, Netracullen and Jill. I love you.**

**Thank you Stephenie Meyer for giving us Twilight.**

* * *

_**The Beginning and the End**_

I walk along the book shelf, dragging my fingers over the spines of the books. They haven't been touched in a long time, and my fingers paint lines in the thin layer of dust that covers them. Some people say they can tell a lot about a person judging from their books, and I wonder briefly what they'd think of me.

My collection is big, but contains little of the classical, romantic novels women are supposed to enjoy. You don't find books like "Wuthering Heights", "Romeo and Juliet" or "Sense and Sensibility" in my house. I've read them at school, of course, but I've never been much of a romantic and never understood why the girls in my class swooned over Heathcliff, Romeo or whoever the male leading character was. I read horror stories, thrillers, humour or sad stories. In my book shelf you find Stephen King and Douglas Adams, not Brontë and Shakespeare. When I moved in with Edward, he brought fantasy to my collection of horror and humour, adding a portion of Tolkien. Still no classics, though.

I wonder if I'm so bad at loving people because I read too little romance in my younger years, or if I never read romance because I don't have those feelings in me. I can't relate to that kind of love. It never felt that way to me, so I came to the conclusion that my feelings aren't strong enough to be called love. But then again, who's to say that what I feel isn't love? It's not like they describe it in novels, but it can still be love. It still counts.

_I want it to count._

My fingers hover over two of my teenage favourites. It wasn't like me to read teen fiction at that age – I read Jean M. Auel when I was 13 – but these were special. I pull them out and flip through the pages. "The Outsiders" and "Rumble Fish." I remember them like yesterday. They're both pretty short, and I realize I'll probably be able to read at least one of them before Edward gets home with the kids from their grocery shopping.

I take both of the books to the bedroom, pile some pillows up and sink down against them, making myself comfortable under the duvet. After turning the bedside lamp on, I immerse myself in the sad stories I used to love as a teen.

My family gets home as I'm sitting with tears streaming down my face, reading the final pages. Edward looks concerned, but I explain to him it's only about the book, and he relaxes. I tell him I only have a few pages left and that I'll come out and help with the groceries as soon as I'm finished, but he shakes his head.

"Keep reading, Bella. I've got it."

I hear him rustle around in the kitchen, occasionally telling the kids to keep their voices down. My body is growing increasingly tense by the minute, and I have a hard time concentrating on the text. I feel like I should be out there, taking care of the food and the kids, and not lying around in the bed like a lazy, good-for-nothing slouch. Then I remember I haven't lain around like a slouch for several years. Maybe I can allow myself some lazy time, if Edward's alright with that. He has time for himself every week, after all, going to hockey games, playing floor-ball with his friends or PC games. I think me reading would qualify as time for myself. I just have to get used to actually taking that time without feeling guilty for it.

I finish the book and stay in the bed for a minute, drying my tears. It felt good crying, it was a relief letting it out. I cried for the book, for myself and for Edward, all at once.

When I'm fairly composed again I sneak out from the bedroom. I stand quiet in the hallway for a while, watching Edward move around in the kitchen. He's emptying the dishwasher, still unaware of me, and I take the opportunity to really look at him and concentrate on how I feel at the same time. I don't feel uncomfortable, and I don't feel anxious. He's sort of cute as he scratches his head, trying to figure out where to put some kitchen utensils he barely knows how to use, and it makes me smile.

I realize I've actually come quite far, even though I never really noticed when it happened. A lot of the negative feelings I used to have aren't there anymore. Right now I feel no anxiety, no fear, and no anger. The anxiety is still there sometimes when he touches me, but not like before. I still worry that I won't be able to satisfy him, but not like before. And I still feel unworthy of his love, but not like before. I guess he was right in his letter; I really have changed.

I still have a long way to go, I know that. Maybe this is even when the hardest part begins. I've figured some stuff out, I know a little bit more about myself, and I know in what direction I want to go. Now I face the task of actually getting there, and I realize that it will not be easy. I will have to learn a lot all over again. I want to learn how to make love to Edward, not only have him make love to me. I want to learn how to love myself, not only be loved by him. I don't have to learn how to love him, because I know now that I already do.

Edward is staring at a pair of spaghetti tongs, apparently wondering where to put it. I search for signs of tension in my body, but find none. I walk up behind him and wrap my arms around his body, catching him between them as I open the correct kitchen drawer for the tongs. He puts them down and turns around, and I keep my arms around him, shoving my hands down his back pockets. I suddenly remember I used to do this a lot, in the beginning.

It is nice to feel his ass cheeks, and I squeeze them lightly, trying out what it feels like. He groans and I feel a movement against my stomach. I pause instantly, searching inside me again, looking for signs of distress. A fleeting feeling of unease rises, so I take my hands out of his pockets and take a step back until it disappears again. I'm afraid to try again, worried that it might come back, but want to know if I can do it and take a cautious step forward, closer to his body.

He keeps his arms down, his hands by his sides, and I take them in mine, putting them around my waist. I focus on my breathing and evaluate the reactions in my body as his hands sneak all the way around and he pulls me closer. The unease makes a quick reappearance and then dissolves, and I can relax in his arms. We stand like that for a while, until Benji presses his little body between us. I give Edward a quick kiss on the cheek before I lift Benji up and carry him to the couch.

We sit down and turn the TV on, and with Benji perched on my lap I recap what just happened in the kitchen. It's apparent that my body still has weird reactions to his touches, but also that I can overcome them if I try. Maybe it's like what they say about falling off a horse: you have to get back on the horse that threw you, because if you don't do that, you'll be forever scared of riding. I've been scared for some time, but I'm slowly getting used to being around the horse again.

_I think I can do this. It'll take time, but I think it'll work. The jokes I made about exposure therapy a while ago weren't that far off._

When night falls and the kids are tucked into bed, I ask Edward to come with me into the bedroom. I turn my back to him as I undress, uncomfortable with showing myself naked. I know it's stupid, because he's seen me naked a million times and I know he thinks I'm beautiful, but still I feel an urge to hunch up and hide from him. I make a mental note about adding that to my private exposure therapy experiment. I want to learn how to feel better about showing myself naked.

I sit down on the bed, briefly debating putting on my pajamas, but decide not to and slide down under the duvet. I keep my eyes on the ceiling as Edward undresses, making another mental note about daring to watch him naked. This is something I don't really understand at first. I like seeing him naked, so why does it bother me sometimes? It's not until I put 'me watching him naked' together with 'him knowing that I watch him' that it makes sense to me. It has to do with expectations, again. I have no problem with watching him in secret, or when his eyes are closed, but if he sees me watching him, I worry that he'll think I want sex. I shake my head at myself, irritated with my strange way of thinking, but comforted by the fact that I finally understand some of it.

As Edward lies down on the duvet, I turn to him, trying to look at him. I know it works fine when we're both dressed, casually talking and hanging around the house, but like this, naked in bed, it's a lot harder. He's not covered up like I am, and he's still in his boxers.

"Can I watch you for a while?" I ask quietly. "Just watch, nothing else."

"Sure," he says and shrugs.

I'm a bit jealous of how comfortable he is with it, that he's able to just lie there, relaxed and smiling, not worrying a bit about me watching him. I want to feel like that, too. My eyes dart over his body, and I decide to be methodical about it and start at his feet. He hums quietly to himself, and I let my eyes drift over him. I feel him watching me, and I instinctively press my eyelids together. I'm instantly thrown back in time, to that night when I was touching him like it was the first time. I remember that it worked out fine, even if I had to ask him to close his eyes.

This time I want to do it with him watching. Taking a deep breath, I open my eyes again, looking at his knees and thighs, deciding to skip his crotch this time, and instead I watch his chest as it rises and falls evenly with his breathing. Finally I will my eyes to his face, and meet his eyes. They are smiling.

"Hey there," he says lightly. "See something you like?" He wiggles his eyebrows at me, and I slap his head, letting out a nervous laugh. My body is tense, but I feel it loosen up in the relaxed atmosphere he's creating.

"Nah, I don't know…" I tease him. He gasps in mock horror and pokes my shoulder, and I giggle before I turn serious again.

"You know, I've been thinking… I still worry too much about sex. I'm still not even sure how I'm supposed to touch you. I really appreciate when you take charge, and I can just submit to that, because it takes the pressure off. But I'd also like to be able to take charge. Now _you_ touch me, and _you_ make love to me, but _I_ don't know how to touch and make love to _you_. I want to learn that again."

"Okay…" he says, hesitating a bit before continuing. "How do you want to go about that?"

"I don't know. Do you remember I told you how I worry that you'll expect sex if I touch you? I think maybe we have to take a step back. I think it will be easier if we agree from the start that we're _not_ going to have sex. I want to touch, but without having to worry."

"Like… a temporary sex-embargo?" he asks.

"Yes. I want to get used to the feelings again, and my body needs to understand that touching doesn't automatically leads to sex."

"Sure, as long as we're not talking months of no sex."

I snort at him. "No, I was thinking more like deciding from time to time."

"Oh. That, I can do. But I have one condition," he says sternly.

"Uhm… okay?" I ask, confused.

"I want to make sure that we keep talking to each other, like we did the other night. Sure, it wasn't easy for me to hear, but it was necessary. I don't want you – or me – to go around thinking about things and making assumptions that aren't true. I want you to tell me what you think so I don't have to wonder or make unnecessary mistakes, and I have to learn to ask you what's wrong, instead of making up stupid scenarios in my head."

I nod slowly. That makes sense. We do need to communicate more.

"Deal." I hold my hand out and shake his.

"Deal. So, you wanna touch some? No sex?" he asks hopefully.

I lay my head down on the pillow, and laugh softly with him. We spend the evening taking turns touching each other.

I touch his arm, and he touches mine.

I caress his face, and he caresses mine.

I stroke his chest, and he strokes mine.

I graze his nipple, and he grazes mine.

I skim his thigh, and he skims mine.

I hold his hand, and he holds mine.

He falls asleep eventually, but I don't. I practice watching him, pretending he's still awake. Then I think that I also need to practice watching myself.

I rise quietly and pad out to the hallway, switching the lights on and stopping in front of the full-body mirror. I look intently at myself, trying to remember all the beautiful things he said about my body. I still don't agree with all of them, but beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, and I'm happy I'm beautiful in his eyes. I turn my side to the mirror, watching my body in profile. My back is hunched, making me look like an S. It's not pretty, so I straighten my back. It feels odd in the beginning, like I'm exposing myself when I'm jutting my chest out like that, but I have to admit it looks better.

I stroke the soft skin on my stomach. It's a bit loose, but when I think about it, that's to be expected. I did carry two babies in there. I hold my hands out to where my pregnancy-belly used to end, and marvel at the difference. It's really amazing that this small body managed to expand like that. The loose skin on my stomach is a reminder of the pregnancies and the wonders that came from it. In a way, that's beautiful.

I raise my eyes to my breasts. They are small and flat, not perky and soft like before. That's to be expected, too. These breasts swelled with milk and nursed two babies. They don't look the same, but the importance they hold makes them beautiful anyway.

My hands skim down to the hairy triangle between my legs. I stroke it gently, thinking about how it is now compared to how tight it used to be. Then I think that it doesn't matter. This vagina pushed two full-sized babies out, and even if it's not pretty, it should be respected.

Maybe my body isn't what it used to be, but it changed because it carried, birthed and nursed children. And when I think of it that way, I see that it _is_ beautiful. Not in the way Edward thinks, but in a way that makes sense to me.

The house is calm but not quiet in the night. I hear light snoring from three directions – Edward's, Kate's and Benji's. Sometimes Kate mumbles in her room, random words with no meaning at all. The air is chilly and I shiver in my nakedness, but I don't feel like going back to bed yet. I have too much in my head, good things that I need to make sure I remember, and strange things that I need to figure out. I sneak back into the bedroom and grab my robe, before I head out to the living room.

I find a fleece blanket to put over my legs before I sit down and fire up the computer. I close my eyes, trying to wrap my head around all those years; the fears, the feelings, the guilt and the pain. I want to write about it so I don't forget, but I don't know how to start. I search my mind but it's empty and quiet. I want it to be good; I want to write something meaningful and poetic. Then I realize that it doesn't have to be good. No one is going to read it and grade it anyway. I'm doing this for myself, not for anybody else. It doesn't have to be coherent. There's no need for poetry. It doesn't even have to mean anything.

This is just for me, and its only purpose is for me to have an outlet, to remember and to find some sense again. I shake my head, open my eyes and decide to stop thinking. I let my fingers start typing, making my thoughts appear on the screen before me at the same time as they form in my head.

"_I don't know when it happened. I only know that at some point, somewhere along the line, things had changed."__

* * *

_

**A/N It was a lot more emotional writing this chapter than I had anticipated. Parts of me want to continue, to go on writing about them, but I've told what I wanted to tell and that means I should stop. I guess some of you will want to know what happens to them, if they get their "Happily Ever After." I can't tell you how it ends, because I don't know that yet. But a marriage never "ends happily" unless you divorce. You have to work on your "Happily Ever After" every thay, and that's exactly what they are doing. Sometimes they do well, sometimes not so well, but the point is that they are still trying, and they are still together.**

**I am so grateful to you all for reading and reviewing this, it has meant more than you can possibly imagine. Maybe in the future there will be outtakes, meanwhile I hope you enjoy my other stories.**


	30. Epilogue

**I've been back and forth for a long time as to whether or not I should post this epilogue. First of all, in my mind it's not very well written and doesn't add much to the story. On the other hand, a lot of people have wondered if they got their happy ending or not. Second, I somehow feel it takes something away from what I see as the last chapter.******** I've sent this out via PM to those reviewing my last chapter, but I think it's time to post it now.**

**I want to show that a marriage - even when it's good - never stops to require work, effort and nourishing. In some ways, it's very similar to a garden. It's beautiful, tranquil and someting to be proud of, but there are always some dead leaves that need to be removed or weeding that needs to be done, and it needs a constant ****supply of water and nutrients. Sometimes it's cold, rainy and seemingly dead, but it's actually just dormant. Even though you don't really want to spend much time in it during those periods, you know that those days will pass, and soon there will be sun, roses and butterflies again. **

**Ok, enough with the corny metaphors. My point is, things can get better if you both want it to, and everybody is worthy of love. Even if you're fucked up, depressed and sad, and you don't even love yourself, you are worthy of love. Some people think Edward deserves better. In their eyes, Bella is not good enough. I say Edward deserves to have a caring, affectionate and devoted relationship with the woman he loves, and that means Bella.****He wouldn't want someone else. Bella doesn't deserve less either, even though she has been depressed and acted strange sometimes. That doesn't disqualify her for being loved.**

**Here it comes: the unofficial-and-now-official epilogue.  
**

* * *

_**One year and 85 000 words later.**_

It's Friday, and I have had the opportunity to leave work early. I called Edward on the way home and we agreed that he'd pick up the kids after work, which has given me the time to finish what I started a year ago.

When the final lines are written I briefly consider deleting the entire thing, but decide not to. Edward wants to read it, because he wants to understand more, and I haven't let him do that yet. Maybe it's a good idea, I don't know. Maybe some things will hurt him. We've covered most if it in therapy already, but seeing it in words like this is maybe different. Emily thinks it could be beneficial to both of us. I'm undecided.

I look at the clock and realize Edward and the kids won't be home for another hour at least. I decide to rest for a while; afternoon naps have become my quilty pleasure next to reading and writing. I pull the curtain down and close the door before sliding down under the duvet, still fully dressed. It's a chilly, rainy day and I'm still a bit cold.

After about half an hour of sleep the phone rings. I answer drowsily and am greeted by Edward's voice. Apparently Kate is going home with a friend from Kindergarten, and we won't have to pick her up from their house until it's time for dinner. He tells me he's on his way to get Benji, and that I can expect him home in about half an hour. We hang up and I fall back down onto the bed, yawning widely.

I'm just about to drift off as the phone rings again. I'm pretty sure it's Edward wanting to know if he needs to stop by the grocery store. But it's not. One of Benji's friends at pre-school wants him to come home with them and play some more before dinner, and his mother is happy to have him over for an hour or two. I say yes and hear Benji squeal over the phone, happy that I agreed. I quickly call Edward to tell him not to bother about Benji and come straight home instead. It's not until I hang up that I realize this means almost one and a half hour of alone time for Edward and me. No kids. Just us. Grown-up time.

And I make a decision. I'm going to touch him today, really touch him, intimately. I've thought about this for a long time, but never really gotten the courage or the opportunity to do it. There has been plenty of sex – well, that depends on what you compare it with. Plenty for us is once a week if we're lucky, or twice a month. Life, work, kids and tiredness have this obnoxious habit of getting in the way. But it has always been _him_, you know? I've sort of drifted along, letting him do his thing. I've enjoyed it, which is a pretty huge step for me, but I've never really taken charge. Not even when I've been the one initiating it I have been very active.

It has been good, getting to know my own body and its reactions to him again, but all this time I've felt guilty for not having the guts to give him what he gives me. I've prepared myself for it, and I think today is maybe the right time to try. So yes. I'm going to touch him, feel him and take back a little bit of my self confidence. I may not do it very well, but at least I'll try, and I know that will be good enough him, as well as he knows him trying is good enough for me.

Because that's all there is, really. Just trying to be as good as you can be, and accepting that sometimes it's not the best. Sometimes you mess up, and sometimes he messes up, but you're in it together and you're both equally responsible for what's happening – or not happening.

A slow grin spreads over my face, and I quickly undress. When I'm completely naked I slide back under the duvet and wait for my husband.


	31. OUTTAKE: James, the Bellabreaker Part I

**Outtake from The Secret Changes within Bella Swan**

**Written for Fandom4Tsunami**

_This outtake is about some things that happened to Bella before she met Edward - it's about her and James, the Bella-breaker. It begins in the present, in a therapy session with Emily, and looks back in time. It's quite a long story to tell, and a bit hard to write, so I will probably write it in three parts. This is the first. I don't know when the next part will be done. I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

**James, the Bella-breaker - part I**

"Hello, Bella. Nice to see you again." Emily smiles at me as she opens the door. I nod at our therapist and shrug out of my jacket before I sink down in the chair I usually sit in. Edward and I quickly adopted our favourite chairs in Emily's office, and when we're both there for couple's counselling we automatically take those seats. When I'm there alone, like I am today, I sometimes find it easier to think and talk if I'm in Edward's chair, it's like the change of seating helps my mind to change routes, to see things from different angles. It's silly, but I don't care. It works. Today, I sit in my chair. Today, I want to focus on _me_.

"How are things at home?" Emily asks, casually.

"They're good. We're good. We have done like you suggested, with the sex embargo thing. We decided nothing sexual was allowed for two weeks, and every touch between us was supposed to be about... well, other stuff than sex." I hesitate slightly, not really sure what else to tell her.

"Did you find it helpful?"

"I did. It was nice to know that he had no ulterior motives for touching me. It's not like he had before, I know that, but it felt different anyway. I felt more secure and could relax, I didn't have to wonder if he wanted something more." I admit.

"That's good, then. Did it change they way you feel about sex?" She tilts her head and watches me expectantly.

"Somehow, yes, it did. We even decided to extend it by one week when we were done with the first two, because it was such a relief for me. But by the end of the third week, I actually wanted him to touch me sexually. That kind of surprised me." As always, when we discuss my sex life, I blush furiously.

"Did you tell Edward about that?"

"Not at first. I'm not good at talking about those things, about sex. And when the third week was over, and we could have sex again, we were just... I don't know. There was this huge pink elephant in the room, but neither of us wanted to address it. He didn't want to put any pressure on me, so he didn't say anything about it, and I didn't know what to say. Instead of touching regularly with no sexual intent, we went to not touching at all because he wasn't sure how I'd interpret it, and I didn't know how to initiate it. So we had a week of building tension, of course, before I finally got my act together and gave him a hug. Just a simple one, but when he started to loosen his grip, I kept my arms around him. That's when we started to talk about it, and even though we didn't actually do anything, we... well, we touched. Sexually." I avoid her eyes and look down at my trembling fingers, fiddling with the hem of my sweatshirt.

"So it took some time, but eventually you talked about it. It sounds like both of you fell into your old patterns of bad communication and building frustration, but managed to break that negative spiral and find your way back to a healthier one," she concludes.

"We did," I agree.

"Are you ready to talk to me a bit more about this James character? You've mentioned him before in therapy, when you told me the basics of your love life before you met Edward, but I'd like to know more."

I look out the window and sigh. I knew she'd want to know more about him, but I don't know where to start. Does she want everything, from the beginning? Because really, that's a long story to tell. I close my eyes and go back in time, to the small ground floor apartment I used to live in. I recall the damp, almost moldy smell, the grass and trees outside the window, and the wafts of cigarette smoke occasionally finding their way through the ventilation shafts. I remember my bed in the corner, the second hand couch covered with blankets and the worn office chair by the desk. A small TV and a huge computer - by today's standards anyway - took most of the space on that desk. It was through that computer he first made contact. James, the Bella-breaker. It feels so far away, like a different life, but yet I remember every single thing.

~oOo~

I tapped my fingers against the desk as I waited impatiently for my old 28.8 k modem to connect. The modem's blinking green diodes, the beeps and the crackling from the phone line caused an almost Pavlovian response, a nervous itch and expectant thrill that rushed through my body. When I was finally connected I quickly opened the BBS, and searched for the little red flag indicating new messages in my favourite forum – "Love and Relations."

Going through the responses in the last thread I was involved in, I revelled in the realization that so many people were cheering me on. I had wanted to know why a single woman having one night stands was considered loose and whorish, when a man could do the same thing and be seen as a stud. For her, it was negative. For him, it was positive. I thought that was unfair. I wanted the same options. Women's liberation and equality should also apply to their sex life, not only work, salaries and domestic tasks.

My online friends – who were males, mostly – were telling me to go for it; that of course I was entitled to the same level of casual sex and multiple partners as any male on campus. They agreed with me. Women should be able to sleep around, too, without being called slutty. Somewhere in my mind a voice pointed out that maybe these men encouraged me because they had an interest in having more women in the "one night stand-market," but I quickly shut it down. Of course, that wasn't the case. Right?

Right.

There were some people – women, mostly – in the thread reasoning that the sleeping around was a bad idea, both for men and women, but the overall response to them was that people should be able to do what they wanted and satisfy their lusts as long as no one got hurt by it. Some said they were boring, in need of a good fuck, or not good looking enough to get any one night stands anyway. I furrowed my eyebrows at that; I didn't like the tone they used, it was unnecessary harsh, and for some reason it worried me. I didn't want to be perceived that way. I was more concerned about being seen as an ugly, frigid, boring girl that no man wanted to fuck anyway, than I worried about being considered an easy lay. Therefore, those comments stayed in my mind, nettling my subconscious like a splinter too small to get out with the tweezers.

It was with mixed feelings of delight, from being encouraged by so many men, and unease, from the harsh comments to some of the other women in the thread, that I left the forum and opened my inbox. The red flag on it made me curious; I rarely got emails directly to the inbox since most of the activity was in the forums. It was only one message, from someone named James Lambert.

"Don't let other people dictate what is right for you. Your lusts and desires are there for a reason. Follow them."

Staring at the screen I scratched my head, seeing something familiar with the name but not being able to place it. His profile told me he was at the same campus as me, and it made me wonder if he knew who I was. Why did he contact me? What did he want? I went through the forums in search for messages from him, trying to get some idea of what he was like. He didn't post much, and when he did it was mostly in the technology or computer related forums. He'd never posted in the Love and Relations forum, but apparently he at least read it.

I started checking the history of random posts, and could see he'd not read many of them. It wasn't until I checked the history of my own posts as his name started to show up regularly, and the last month or two he'd read every single one of my posts in that thread. I found his interest in me rather endearing, and it felt like he'd unconsciously given me a compliment. That small voice in the back of my head whispered something about creepy stalkers, but I shook it off. It felt nice to be noticed and good that someone took the time to read what I wrote and send me a private message.

A happy warmth spread through my body as I re-read his message. It was sweet and sexy in a way. It sounded like he cared for me, that he wanted me to experience good things and feel good about myself. It sounded like he knew my mind.

I smiled and typed a short answer.

"Thank you for your sweet message. You give good advice."

It didn't take more than a few minutes until I heard the distinct ping from the computer, indicating a new incoming message. I raised my eyebrows and opened my inbox again. It was from him, not more than a few lines and a flirty smiley.

"You're welcome. I give good when I get good... ;-)"

I giggled at his message. That could definitely be interpreted in different ways, and I couldn't help but wonder if he saw the double meanings in it - or maybe even meant for it to be that way. I bit my bottom lip and thought about how to respond to him.

"A nice balance between the two - isn't that what life is all about? I equally enjoy giving and receiving, and even more when it's good."

I nodded to myself. I was pleased with my answer. It could very well be about giving and getting advice. It could also very well be about something else, and that's what made it fun. I had always enjoyed double meanings and hidden messages, and not everyone shared my sense of humor when it came to that. Jake did, of course, and we could make an entire conversation into something it wasn't. Sexual innuendos were our speciality, and it drove people nuts. We enjoyed it immensely, of course, and it wasn't unusual that, when it went far enough, it eventually led us straight to bed. Not that I minded. In fact, when it came to Jake, that's what I hoped for.

With this James guy, however, it was strictly for fun, to practise my innuendo skills and to see if I could wind him up a bit, maybe even get him a bit excited. That's how it began, really. An exercise in equivocalness and a test to see if I could make someone interested in me without even meeting me.

As it turned out, it worked pretty well. We spent hours chatting online, and our emails got longer and longer. We shared deep thoughts, hopes and fears, and he was always supportive and friendly. He showered me with compliments on my wits, intellect, and beauty - to which I snorted and replied that I could very well be 85 years old and ugly as a bat as far as he knew. His answer was the first clue that maybe he actually knew who I was.

"Oh Bella, I know you're not ugly. I've always had a thing for brunettes with velvety brown eyes and a pretty smile... And you can't be more than 22, tops."

I had never told him what I looked like.

I was twenty-three years old, old enough to know the difference between honest compliments and indecent intentions, but too naive to tell them apart in reality.

I typed a new message.

"Do you know who I am?"

His answer didn't take long.

"Of course I do. Everybody knows who you are. All the boys want to have you, and all the girls want to be you."

I giggled and shook my head. How silly. That was so not true... Then I pursed my lip, wondering what he meant by it. Was he, himself, included in "all the boys" or was he being metaphorical?

"ALL the boys? Really? No exception at all?"

Once again, his answer came quickly.

"Yes. ALL the boys. No exceptions... ;-)"

I felt myself blush and quickly turned the computer off. I was both embarrassed and happy by his comment, but somehow the thought of him knowing who I was, when I was still kept in the dark about his identity, made me feel inferior and insecure. I didn't know what to make of it, or how to respond. I had to think about it for a while. That little voice deep down whispered her disapproval once again, voicing her concerns about his actions and motives, and I chose - once again - not to listen.

Surely his motives were honest. Of course he was sincere in his compliments. Obviously he really liked me as a person. Right?

Right.

I stayed off the computer for a few days. It was hard, seeing as I had become quite addicted to that little red flag indicating incoming messages, but I needed some space. I couldn't quite figure out my feelings about where this long-lasting correspondence seemed to be heading. Not only did he know all those things I'd told him in the security of anonymity, he also had an actual person to attach all of this to. He knew me in so many ways that I didn't know him. I had no knowledge of his identity. The balance between us had shifted, and from being an equal exchange of thoughts and feelings, he had now gained the upper hand.

When I finally logged on again, I had several messages from him. The first ones were short, wondering where I had gone and why I didn't answer. Then they gradually became more worried, pleading, full of self-accusations. His last one was a long, tender letter where he begged for forgiveness, afraid he'd overstepped the boundaries. He was devastated that I didn't write back, and told me how important our conversations had become to him. They were the light of his existence, the reason he got up in the morning, and the last thing on his mind before he went to bed.

I caved, of course.

We resumed our regular correspondence, and I started to recognized a pattern. His short messages were usually sent during the afternoon or early evening, and the longer ones later, around midnight or the early hours before the sun rose. It made me wonder what kind of sleeping pattern he had - and what his life looked like. I wanted to know what he did during the day, where he lived, why he was up so late... He answered my questions in an evasive but flirty way, and it didn't give me much information about the trivia of his life at all. I knew his inside - or so I thought - but not a thing about what went on outside of his brain. The lack of details and the withholding of information started to bother me. I grew more and more curious and, to be honest, infatuated by this person, who I knew nothing about. My ignorance allowed me to conjure up an image of his persona that, in retrospect, wasn't very accurate. I didn't know that, then.

My first clue should have been the knowledge he dumped on me when I started to hint that I wanted to meet him in person. We'd grown increasingly more affectionate towards each other in our emails, and his words had come to make me blush and tingle with a giddiness I hadn't felt since I was a teenager.

I had just gotten back from a party at campus. It was well after midnight, and the first thing I did - of course - was to check my inbox. The red flag on it made me smile, and my inebriated brain didn't think much of the content of the message. The tiny voice in the back of my head who should have whispered "creepy stalker" had passed out hours earlier.

"You had a quite nice cleavage in that blue top, and I love your ass in those jeans. ;-)"

I slowly processed the fact that he'd apparently been at the party, without acknowledging me. Instead of being pissed off that he apparently was following me around, I got angry that he'd been there and not made contact. As far as I knew, I might have even talked to him. As far as I knew, I might have made out with someone in front of him, which made me feel oddly guilty and more than a little insecure. It wasn't as if we had some kind of relationship; I should be able to make out with the entire male population on campus in front of him, but I started to worry about how I had appeared, how many parties he'd seen me at, and what he thought of me. I would never be able to go to a party again without constantly looking over my shoulder, wondering which of the guys was him.

I needed to know who he was, so I made a decision. I'd make him see me.

"Really? You liked what you saw? I'd say the same, but I can't because I still don't know who you are and I honestly don't think that's fair."

His answer didn't take long, as usual at this time of night.

"I did like it. You're a smart girl. If you think hard you should be able to figure it out. Your hair smelled nice, BTW."

Somehow the fact that he smelled my hair without telling me pissed me off beyond words, and my alcohol numbed fingers stumbled across the keyboard as I typed my response.

"I don't think knowing who you are is some kind of riddle for me to solve. You know me - obviously - and if you're interested in still having this kind of contact you need to give that "oh I'm Mr. Secret and I'm so cool" act up. Otherwise you can consider this as my last mail. Enough is enough. It's not funny anymore, and the only way I can interpret your actions is that you don't want me to know who you are, because you're not at all interested in me. I'm just a diversion when you're bored, and you have no interest whatsoever in knowing me in real life. So fuck off."

I knew I should turn the computer off and go to sleep, but my insecurity and self-torturous tendencies forced me to sit there and wait for him to answer. I wanted him to answer, so badly. I wanted him to care. I wanted him to want me in real life, not just as an email fling.

I put my head down on my desk, not wanting to see the empty mailbox mocking me. Exhaustion washed over me, and my shoulders slumped down. The ping from the incoming message was almost drowned in a huge yawn, and at first I wasn't sure I'd actually heard correctly. I turned my head slightly, peeking at the screen. My sight was blurry from alcohol and lack of sleep, but it did register a small red flag there. I sat up slowly, hesitating before opening the message. I dreaded the content, and held my breath as I read.

"I'm sorry Bella. You've never been just a diversion, and everything I've written to you is true. Why would you ever think it's not? It's just... I'm afraid for you to meet me. You're popular, pretty and outgoing, and why in the world would you want to spend time with me? I'm nothing. I've avoided making my presence known because I was afraid it would jeopardize what we have, and I need you to know it means so much to me. Of course I would want to know you in person. Of course I would rather talk to you in real life. You have to believe me."

I snorted. Why would I believe that, when everything he did contradicted his words?

"Prove it. Tell me where you live and I'll take a cab. On second thought, don't. I know your name, I can look it up myself."

His response was immediate, almost desperate.

"You can't do that!"

I shook my head. There he was again, saying one thing and acting like another.

"Why? Didn't you just say you wanted to meet me in person?"

I tapped the desk impatiently as I waited. His answer was still the same.

"I do, but you can't come here."

Tears startled to prickle my eyes. I didn't understand why he was so opposed to seeing me.

"I don't understand. Why?"

"Because."

"That's not an answer. And if I can't come to you, then you can come to me."

Time passed, and I kept staring at the screen. I got a sinking feeling in my stomach, and I wondered how I could have gotten so emotionally invested in someone I hadn't even met. It was so strange. The ping and the little red flag brought me back to reality.

"Okay Bella, here's the thing. You can't come over, but it's not because I don't want you to. Believe me, I do. It's because, well, I'm not alone. I have a girlfriend, we're engaged actually, have been since her eighteenth birthday. We've known each other forever, and she was my biggest support when my mother passed away, years ago. Her name is Victoria, and you can't come here because we live together. We bought this apartment together last year. She's asleep now, but she's been quite suspicious lately, wondering why I'm up so late at night and spend so much time in front of the computer. I want to meet you, I do, but I have to think of a way to make it work out. Give me your phone number, and I'll call you when I can talk. You are too important for me to lose. I need you."

And just like that he gave me the biggest clue as to why I should stay away from him, cut the losses and go on with my life, and yet I didn't see it. This was a man who was engaged to be married to his childhood sweetheart, and still he had pursued me for months, withholding that little piece of information about himself, flirting with me and making me more and more interested in him. He was living with a woman, and yet he tried to make plans on how to be able to get involved with me, too.

I should have seen the warning signs. But what did I choose to see? I chose to see a man who was so infatuated with me that he put his entire life at stake. That had to be it. Right?

Right.

_**To be continued...**_


End file.
